Miss  BELLE   PETERSON, 


•2-- 

BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME, 


OR, 


A  TRUE  KENTUCKY  GIRL. 


BY  I 

MISS    BELLE  I?  ETERSON, 

AUTHOR  OF  "  ROSE  SHERWOOD;   OR,  THE  STAR  is  SHINING  STILL;" 

"ONE  WORD  AND  A  TEAR;  OR,  THE  WOUNDED  DOVE;  " 

"THE  STORY  OF  LEONORIA  PAROLEE,"  AND 

POETICAL  WORKS, 


LOUISVILLE : 

p 
PUBLISHED    FOR    THE    AU  T  HO  R  . 

m  .       •**"  "N 

1886. 


TO   THE 

STATE  OF  TEXAS 

AND   HER   MUCH-LOVED   AND   HONORED   PEOPLE 

THIS  Book 

IS   RESPECTFULLY   DEDICATED   BY  THE   AUTHORESS, 
AS   A   SLIGHT  TOKEN 

OF   HER 
Hir.H    APPRECIATION   OF  THE    UNLIMITED   KINDNESS 

AND 

HOSPITALITY  WHICH   SHE 
RECEIVED   WHILE   MAKING   HER   TOUR 

THROUGH 
THE   LONE   STAR   STATE. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1883,  by 

BELLE  PETERSON, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


PREFACE. 


Miss  BELLE  PETERSON,  the  Authoress  of  this  work,  and 
whose  name  is  familiar  to  us  all,  is  a  native  of  North  Carolina, 
but  for  several  years  has  been  a  resident  of  Kentucky,  where 
the  plot  of  her  story  is  laid,  and  where  she  now  resides  upon 
one  of  the  most  popular  streets  of  Louisville.  She  is  a  descend- 
ant of  Daniel  Boone,  the  great  pioneer  of  the  West,  and  of 
Mary  Slocum,  distinguished  in  the  Revolutionary  struggle  of  the 
colonies  with  the  mother  country.  She  is  also  a  grandniece  ot 

the  celebrated  William  Rufus  King,  once  governor  of  the  State 
» 
of  Alabama  and  afterward  vice-president  of  the  United  States. 

Miss  PETERSON  deserves  the  success  she  has  attained  in  the 
literary  world,  this  being  her  fourth  production,  all  of  which 
have  received  the  high  commendations  of  the  press. 

The  style  of  the  present  story  is  pleasing  and  graceful,  also 
stirring  and  vivid;  being  a  touching  tribute  to  woman's  con- 
stancy and  devotion,  and  man's  gallantry  and  bravery,  and 
which  we  hope  will  grow  rapidly  into  public  favor. 

And  now,  with  our  best  wishes  for  the  success  of  this  inter- 
esting work  of  the  fair  Authoress  of  Kentucky,  we  commend  it 

to  the  public. 

MRS.  B.  KENNEDY. 


CONTENTS. 


I.  A  leap  from  the  midnight  train — A  mother's  wild  despair — 

A  sad  funeral 5 

II.  A  wail  of  grief  in  the  city  of  the  dead 29 

III.  The  phantom  of  the  night ;  or,  a  mysterious  letter     ....  45 

IV.  The  letter  translated 58 

V.  I  can  not  bury  my  father  in  Potter's  field  ;  or,  the  doom  of 

a  drtinkard's  wife 67 

VI.  Veary  Carlisle  has  found  a  friend  ;  or,  the  cloud  is  passing 

away 79 

VII.   A  deathbed  gift — A  mother's  blessing 88 

VIII.   Birdie's  trials  ;  or,  out  in  the  cold  world  alone 91 

IX.   Dr.  St.  George  and  the  little  beggar  girl 97. j 

X.  The  bird  has  flown  from  its  thorny  nest;  or,  a  narrow  escape  zf-jT*' 

XI.  Veary  Carlisle  mourns  over  the  loss  of  his  little  Birdie  ...  I.  ^ 

XII.  Found  in  the  snow;  or,  an  old  man's  story 154 

XIII.  The  orphan's  prayer ;  or,  the  angel  of  the  house 164 

XIV.  The  dying  child  in  the  lone  house  in  the  mountains  ....  175 
XV.   Birdie's  adventure;  or,  the  meeting  at  the  spring 183 

XVI.   Has  she  been  named  in  heaven  ?  or,  do  the  angels  call  her 

Birdie  still? 198 

XVII.  A  row  by  moonlight ;  or,  saved  from  a  watery  grave      .    .    .  209 

XVIII.   Birdie's  surprise  ;  or,  the  miniature  in  the  woods 220 

XIX.  The  chamber  of  death — The  fourth  time  an  orphan  ....  240 

XX.  The  confession  of  a  dying  man 246 

XXI.  Not  dead,  but  living — A  happy  surprise — Engagement     .    .  256 
XXII.   Found  at  last  in  the  city  of  the  dead ;  or,  the  baby  in  the 

eagle's  nest 276 

XXIII.  Lines  to  little  Ida  Belle  Peterson 295 

XXIV.  Essay  on  the  men  and  women  of  the  present  day 297 

Doubt  and  despair 325 


CHAPTER  I. 

A   LEAP  FROM  THE   MIDNIGHT  TRAIN A    MOTHER'S    WILD    DE- 
SPAIR  A  SAD  FUNERAL. 

White-winged  peace  sits  enthroned  on  yon  fleecy  cloud, 
and  the  day-god,  clothed  in  majesty  sublime,  shoots  forth 
his  golden  arrows,  spreading  bright  effulgence  through  my 
nppling  hair,  and  playing  hide-and-seek  around  my  pen  as 
*Eendeavor  to  gather  up  a  few  scattered  links  of  memory's 
broken  chain.  Had  my  pen  been  plucked  from  some 
beautiful  bird  of  paradise  and  dipped  in  the  dyes  of  the 
rainbow,  as  it  steeps  its  lovely  form  in  the  rays  of  a  mid- 
day sun  that  turns  the  dewdrops  into  sparkling  diamonds, 
and  makes  rainbow  bridges  of  the  seven  precious  stones, 
and  builds  castles  of  ruby  with  gates  of  pearl,  I  might 
attempt  to  paint  in  glowing  colors  the  story  of  one  whose 
life  I  am  about  to  narrate ;  and  should  these  written  pages 
rest  beneath  the  critic's  eye,  deal  gently  with  the  one  who 
traced  them  there,  for  my  pen  is  but  a  steel  one,  and  is 
dipped  in  blue  ink;  and  my  reader  will  have  to  accept 
the  plain  truth  from  my  simple  and  unsophisticated  pen. 

It  is  a  calm,  hazy  October  morning.  Soft,  golden-edged 
clouds  float  peacefully  over  the  blue  vault  of  heaven  and 

(5) 


6  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

cast  their  shadows  upon  my  table  as  I  write.  A  fragrant 
breeze,  so  fresh  and  pure  that  one  feels  sure  its  original 
home  must  have  been  in  some  far-away  paradisical  island  in 
a  southern  sea,  is  holding  sweet  communion  with  the  dying 
leaves  as  they  breathe  a  sad  farewell  to  the  parent  oak 
that  stands  like  a  sentinel  in  triumphal  security,  twining 
its  leaf-clad  arms  in  close  embrace.  A  pure  stillness  is 
floating  through  the  air,  while  the  silver  gleam  of  the 
reaper's  blade  flashes  mid  autumn's  generous  sheaves,  and 
all  nature  seems  to  sink  into  one  grand  repose,  wherein 
strife  and  misery  and  death  appear  to  have  no  part. 

The  ocean  of  life  may  present  a  calm,  unbroken  surface 
to  the  eye — the  very  picture  of  repose — while  beneath,  the 
dark  and  turbid  current  is  surging  to  and  fro,  black  and 
angry.  The  sky  may  smile  without  a  cloud,  as  its  blue 
depths  are  bathed  in  a  flood  of  sunshine ;  and  yet  the 
storm  be  brewing  and  the  lightning  be  heating  its  red  bolts 
and  the  storm  troops  marshaling  for  the  onset.  The  human 
countenance  may  be  as  calm  as  that  ocean,  while  bitter 
waters  are  welling  up  in  the  heart  as  bright  with  sunshine 
as  that  sky  unclouded,  and  yet  the  fierce  tempest  be  sweep- 
ing across  the  soul,  or  the  echoes  of  sorrow's  wail  linger 
mid  ruins  of  hopes  which  have  been  destroyed.  As  we 
bury  the  past  and  write  its  epitaph  we  turn  a  new  leaf  in 
the  volume  of  time  and  enter  upon  the  future  with  re- 
kindled hopes  and  aspirations. 

Perhaps  it  is  well  for  us  that  an  impenetrable  veil  of 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  7 

mystery  hangs  over  our  future  that  is  unsolvable  by  human 
reason.  "What  a  world  of  chance!  Fortune  may  make 
us  her  idol  to-day  and  her  foot-ball  to-morrow."  Nothing 
in  this  world  ever  turns  out  just  as  we  expect  it.  You 
can  go  on  and  plan  and  contrive  and  say  you  will  do  thus 
and  so,  and  when  the  time  comes  around  you  will  be 
thunder-struck  at  the  odd  turn  everything  has  taken, 
totally  different  from  your  plans,  no  matter  how  care- 
fully laid  and  arranged.  We  must  go  through  the  world 
not  knowing,  taking  everything  on  trust.  And  the  per- 
son is  wise,  indeed,  who  has  courage  enough  to  take  the 
world  just  as  he  finds  it,  without  any  absurd  expectations. 

"Blessed  is  he  who  expects  nothing,"  says  the  old 
proverb,  "  for  then  he  will  never  be  disappointed." 

Life,  however,  has  some  sunny  spots,  but  they  who 
seek  happiness  only  from  this  world  find  but  few  of  them. 
The  gifted  Byron,  possessed  of  rank  and  talent  by  which 
he  swayed  at  will  the  human  heart,  and  the  waking  of 
whose  harp  nations  heard  entranced,  was  most  unhappy. 
Ambition  is  a  demon ;  and  Fame  has  eagle's  wings,  and 
she  mounts  not  as  high  as  we  desire.  When  all  is  gained, 
how  little  then  is  won !  And  yet  to  gain  that  little,  how 
much  is  lost!  Let  us  once  aspire,  and  madness  follows. 
Could  we  but  drag  the  purple  from  the  hero's  heart;  could 
we  but  tear  the  laurel  from  the  poet's  throbbing  brow, 
and  read  their  doubts,  their  dangers,  their  despair,  we 
might  learn  a  greater  lesson  than  we  shall  ever  acquire  by 


8  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

musing  over  their  exploits  or  their  aspirations.  Think  of 
unrecognized  Caesar,  with  his  wasting  youth,  weeping  over 
the  Macedonian's  young  career!  Could  Pharsalia  com- 
pensate for  those  withering  pangs?  View  the  obscure 
Napoleon  starving  in  the  streets  of  Paris!  What  was  St. 
Helena  to  the  bitterness  of  such  existence !  The  visions 
of  past  glory  might  illume  even  that  dark  imprisonment, 
but  to  be  conscious  that  his  supernatural  energies  might 
die  away  without  creating  their  miracles — can  the  wheel 
or  the  Bastile  rival  the  torture  of  such  a  thought?  Be- 
hold Byron  bending  over  his  shattered  lyre,  with  inspira- 
tion in  his  very  rage!  And  the  pert  taunt  could  sting 
even  this  child  of  light!  To  doubt  the  truth  of  the  creed 
in  which  you  have  been  nurtured  is  not  so  terrific  as  to 
doubt  respecting  the  intellectual  vigor,  on  the  strength  of 
which  you  have  staked  your  happiness. 

The  glorious  king  of  day  had  finished  his  grand  parade, 
and  his  flaming  banner  of  bronze  and  gold  was  waving 
triumphantly  in  the  western  sky,  when  he  tipped  his  royal 
cap,  and  \vith  a  low  bow  bid  good-night  to  the  nocturnal 
queen  as  she  arose  in  her  chariot  of  silver,  surrounded  by 
her  maids  of  honor,  trembling  lest  they  should  offend  her 
majesty.  The  distant  hills  blushed  under  the  good-night 
kiss  of  the  setting  sun ;  and  as  if  for  shame  twilight  shut 
her  curtain  down  and  pinned  it  with  a  star ;  and  the  lim- 
pid, silvery  waters,  as  if  offended,  hurriedly  left  their 
mountain  home,  gurgling  and  foaming  and  moaning  as 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  9 

they  threw  themselves  upon  the  rocks  below,  breaking 
into  snowy  spray,  and  then  gathering  themselves  together 
again,  leaped  into  the  deep,  quiet  waters  of  the  Ohio. 

Away  in  the  west  a  few  golden-edged  clouds  lay  along 
the  horizon,  illuminated  by  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun 
which  had  just  sunk  to  rest  behind  the  treetops  as  if  loth 
to  leave  to  the  shadows  of  night  the  beautiful  scene  it  so 
lately  had  clad  in  a  sheen  of  gold,  until  the  waters  of  the 
Ohio  seemed  turned  into  a  sea  like  unto  that  which  the 
wise  king  added  to  the  glories  of  the  temple. 

Dr.  St.  George  had  been  standing  at  his  office  window 
for  some  time  watching  the  beautiful  scene.  Though  his 
face  bore  traces  of  sadness,  his  eyes  were  bright  with  the 
fire  of  youth,  and  hope  was  strong  in  his  manly  breast. 
Though  young,  he  had  aspired  to  the  topmost  round  of 
his  profession,  and  stood  among  the  first  physicians  of  the 
day.  No  man  was  more  loved  in  the  community  where 
he  was  reared ;  and  no  physician  was  more  honored  and 
respected  in  the  field  where  he  labored.  He  had  married 
quite  young,  and  eighteen  months  of  perfect  happiness 
had  passed  over  his  head.  Nothing  had  come  to  disturb 
the  quietude  of  his  short  but  peaceful  wedded  life,  until 
one  day  he  found  the  canker-worm  eating  into  the  heart  of 
his  flower,  and  the  hectic  flush  burning  like  rubies  upon 
her  cheek.  While  in  this  deep  reverie,  a  hand  was  gently 
laid  upon  his  shoulder,  and  turning  around  he  beheld  one 
of  the  disciples  of  Blackstone,  who  said: 


IO  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

''I  have  been  standing  at  your  elbow  at  least  a  half 
hour,  and  must  say  that  I  have  never  seen  any  one  so  com- 
pletely lost  in  thought.  Why,  doctor,  what  is  the  matter? 
You  would  impress  one  with  the  idea  that  you  were  con- 
templating suicide. " 

The  doctor  smiled  as  he  gave  the  lawyer  a  warm  grasp 
of  the  hand,  but  it  was  anything  but  a  mirthful  flash  ; 
there  was  something  lacking  in  that  smile,  and  something, 
too,  was  there  which  told  of  a  sorrow  deep  down  in  the 
hidden  chambers  of  his  soul  that  had  never  been  resur- 
rected. 

"You  take  me  rather  by  surprise,"  said  he;  "I 
thought  you  had  left  the  city." 

"  I  have  been  away  from  the  city  several  days/'  said 
the  lawyer,  "and  have  just  returned.  I  saw  your  and 
your  wife's  departure  for  the  White  Sulphur  in  the  socials 
this  morning,  and  though!:  that  I  would  drop  around  and 
see  you.  I  suppose  you  leave  to-morrow  morning.'" 

''Yes,"  replied  the  doctor;  "all  preparations  have 
been  made  to  start  on  the  26th.  " 

"  By  the  way,  have  you  obtained  a  nurse?  "said  the 
lawyer.  "  I  saw  your  advertisement  for  one  ;  if  you  have 
not,  I  think  I  can  send  you  a  most  excellent  one,  and 
one,  too,  who  has  had  considerable  experience." 

"Yes;  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  get  one  this  morn- 
ing," said  the  doctor;  "and  I  think  my  wife  will  be 
pleased  with  her.  She  is  an  old  Spanish  woman,  and  has. 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  I  I 

spent  her  whole  life  in  the  nursery.  She  says  she  is 
formerly  of  Cincinnati." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  leave  just  at  this  time,"  said  the 
lawyer ;  ' '  for  I  think  that  it  would  be  very  essential  that 
you  should  be  at  court  when  that  case  comes  off." 

"I  saw  your  partner,  Mr.  Calhone,  this  morning,  and 
he  told  me  that  it  was  not  necessary  that  I  should  be 
there,"  said  Dr.  St.  George,  looking  very  much  disap- 
pointed. 

"I  know,"  said  the  lawyer,  "we  did  think  so  at  first; 
but  something  has  caused  us  to  change  our  minds,  and  we 
think  it  is  very  essential  that  you  should  be  there  in  per- 
son. I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  you,"  he  continued,  "but 
one  should  look  after  his  own  interest." 

"I  must  first  look  after  the  interest  of  my  wife,"  said 
the  doctor;  "  I  can  not  see  her  dying  right  under  my  nose 
and  not  make  an  effort  to  save  her,  for  the  sake  of  a  few 
dollars;  no,  not  for  millions.  She  has  been  neglected  too 
long  already, "  and  he  turned  and  gazed  out  of  the  window 
for  several  minutes. 

"You  must  excuse  me,"  said  the  lawyer;  "this  is  the 
first  of  my  knowing  about  her  illness ;  I  thought  you  were 
merely  going  on  a  pleasure  trip." 

' '  My  wife  is  not  confined  to  her  bed,  and  never  has 
been,  but  any  one  can  see  that  she  is  dying  by  degrees  ; 
that  cough  is  wearing  her  life  away,  and  unless  she  has  a 
change  I  am  afraid  there  is  not  much  hope.  And  I  never 


12  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A   NAME. 

can  forgive  myself  for  not  sending  her  sooner,  for  it  was 
only  selfishness  in  me ;  I  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  her 
leaving  me  for  even  a  week." 

Then  there  was  silence,  when  the  lawyer  said,  "I  am 
sorry  for  you,  my  friend,  and  hope  it  is  not  as  bad  as  you 
think,  and  perhaps  this  trip  will  be  beneficial  to  her.  Judge 
Holliday  and  family  are  going  to  start  to-morrow  evening," 
he  continued,  "and  I  know  the  old  judge  will  take  great 
pleasure  in  doing  anything  for  your  wife  that  lies  in  his 
power;  besides  he  has  a  most  excellent  one  himself,  and  I 
don't  think  you  would  have  any  cause  to  be  uneasy  should 
she  go  in  company  with  them." 

"I  know  the  judge  quite  well,"  said  the  doctor,  "  and 
I  am  glad  that  he  and  his  wife  are  going;  I  think  I  will  go 
around  and  see  him  after  tea,  and  see  what  arrangement 
we  can  make." 

"I  have  no  doubt  but  that  your  wife  will  consent  to 
your  remaining  until  after  court,  when  you  explain  every- 
thing to  her,"  the  lawyer  replied. 

' '  She  will  consent  to  anything  that  will  promote  my 
welfare, "  said  the  doctor  ;  "for  if  any  man  was  ever  blessed 
with  a  good  wife  I  am." 

The  two  men  walked  out  of  the  office,  and  after  bidding 
each  other  good-night  each  sought  his  respective  home ; 
one  pondering  over  perplexing  questions  and  tangled 
problems  of  law,  the  other  trying  to  decide  whether  or 
not  to  permit  his  wife  to  go  alone  to  the  springs.  But  he 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A   NAME.  13 

could  not  decide,  and  said  to  himself,  ' '  Well,  I  will  leave 
it  to  her,  and  whatever  her  decision  is  I  will  abide  by  it, 
let  it  be  whatever  it  may." 

ifcjjs^if:^^^^^^ 

At  the  window  of  a  beautiful  mansion  stood  an  exquis- 
itely beautiful,  high-bred  woman,  whose  every  motion  was 
replete  with  grace  and  harmony.  Long  she  gazed  upon 
the  fading  loveliness ;  and  when  at  last  the  glorious  clouds 
had  lost  their  splendor,  and  lay  dense  and  somber,  as  if  in 
grief  that  the  glorious  king  had  departed,  and  the  lakes 
and  rivers  also  seemed  to  join  in  the  same  aspect  of  regret, 
the  full  moon  rose  up  into  the  sky,  and  both  clouds  and 
lake  caught  up  her  smiles,  and  lay  like  islands  of  silver  in 
earth  and  heaven. 

"  We  will  soon  see  papa,"  said  she,  as  she  knelt  down 
beside  the  crib  and  kissed  her  babe  that  was  cooing  and 
smiling  and  throwing  up  its  little  dimpled  arms  and  tiny 
hands,  with  one  little  foot  peeping  out  from  beneath  the 
white  spread.  Long  the  beautiful  mother  gazed  upon  her 
smiling  baby  from  out  of  the  inner  sanctuary  of  her  soul. 
Then  she  kissed  its  little  face  and  hands  and  feet ;  now 
and  then  pressing  it  to  her  throbbing  heart  with  an  eager- 
ness that  seemed  as  though  she  expected  every  minute 
something  would  tear  it  from  her  embrace;  and  then  she 
uttered  a  prayer,  that  He  who  holds  the  world  as  water  in 
the  hollow  of  His  hand  would  watch  over  her  precious  dar- 
ling, and  protect  it  from  the  storms  of  life,  and  from  the 


14  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

temptations  of  this  cold,  fallacious  world,  and  guide  its 
tender  footsteps  over  the  rugged  and  stony  paths  as  it 
ascended  the  steeps  of  Time;  for  erelong  she  would  im- 
press the  parting  kiss  upon  its  white  brow,  and  seek  a 
home  in  that  land  from  whence  no  traveler  returns,  and  its 
tiny  feet  would  have  to  travel  the  thorny  labyrinths  of  life 
without  a  mother's  tender  care  and  loving  counsel.  As 
these  truths  flashed  before  her  she  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands,  and  slow,  scalding  tears  trickled  through  her  slen- 
der fingers  and  dropped  upon  the  white  spread.  What  a 
ray  of  sunshine  connected  that  mother  and  child,  for  holy 
as  heaven  is  a  mother's  tender  love !  It  is  the  love  of  many 
prayers  and  tears;  time  but  strengthens  it.  It  is  pure,  un- 
alloyed, unselfish.  It  is  the  only  love  which  in  this  teeming 
earth  asks  no  more. 

Dr.  St.  George  walked  with  hasty  steps  toward  his 
dwelling.  When  he  reached  the  front  steps  he  paused  for  a 
moment,  and  then  walked  around  to  the  back  of  the  house 
and  ascended  the  back  steps  to  his  wife's  chamber  and  en- 
tered unnoticed.  What  a  spectacle  presented  itself  to  his 
sight.  The  mother  of  his  child  kneeling  over  her  baby, 
bathing  its  face  in  her  tears,  and  that  baby  laughing  and 
frolicking  as  hilariously  as  if  it  was  taking  a  warm  shower 
bath,  and  had  never  known  an  hour  of  baby-grief.  This 
was  too  much  for  him.  A  man  can  stand  anything  but 
a  woman's  tears.  He  knelt  down  beside  her  and  gently 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  15 

raised  her  head  and  said,  in  a  low,  measured  tone,  indica- 
tive of  suppressed  emotion : 

' '  What  is  the  matter  with  my  darling  ?  What  are  all 
these  tears  for,  mamma?" 

"  Nothing,  dear,"  said  she,  drying  her  eyes  with  baby's 
dress.  "I  was  only  feeling  sad." 

"Only  feeling  sad  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  What  made  you  feel  sad,  darling?  Is  there  anything 
troubling  you?" 

"No,  dear;  nothing.  Perhaps  it  is  foolish  of  me,  but 
I  have  felt  all  day  that  some  great  sorrow  was  going  to 
befall  us  in  some  way.  I  have  a  presentiment  of  it,  and 
I  never  felt  as  I  now  do — never !  I  can  not  account  for  it, 
unless  it  is  my  bad  health,  for  nothing  can  happen  to  us, 
surely,  Robert.  Nothing  that  is  very  bad,  do  you  think?" 

"No,  darling,"  said  he,  drawing  her  closer  to  his 
bosom.  "  Nothing  shall  ever  come  to  mar  one  single  hour 
of  your  happiness  if  I  can  help  it,  and  you  must  not  make 
any  more  mountains  to  climb,  for  I  am  afraid  you  will 
never  be  able  to  climb  them  by  your  little  self,  and  have 
baby  to  carry,  too.  Now  promise  me  that  you  won't  be 
foolish  again,  nor  shed  any  more  tears.  Will  you  promise, 
dear?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  faint  reply.  "But  why  did  you  come 
up  the  back  steps?" 

"  Why,  just  to  catch  you  crying,  and  baby  laughing  at 


1 6  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

you.  You  have  no  idea  what  a  spectacle  you  two  made ;  " 
and  he  stooped  down  and  imprinted  a  kiss  upon  the  lips 
of  the  laughing  baby  as  two  little  hands  made  an  attempt 
to  grasp  his  whiskers.  "That  is  right,  baby,"  said  he, 
"always  laugh  at  rnamma  when  she  makes  mountains  and 
cries  over  them." 

"Our  nurse  has  come,  Robert,"  said  she,  as  they 
walked  out  upon  the  veranda. 

"And  do  you  think  you  will  like  her?"  asked  he,  look- 
ing down  inquiringly  into  her  face. 

"  I  don't  like  her  much,  Robert, "  said  she  ;  "  but  I  sup- 
pose it's  only  another  silly  whim,  and  perhaps  I  may  like 
her  after  all.  She  seems  to  love  the  baby  very  much." 

"I am  very  sorry  you  are  disappointed,  but  perhaps  you 
will  like  her  after  you  become  better  acquainted ;  but  I 
have  argued  that  first  impressions  are  always  best.  If  you 
don't  like  her,  dear,"  he  continued,  "  Mr.  Wellington,  my 
lawyer,  says  he  knows  of  one  he  is  sure  that  we  can  get, 
and  he  recommended  her  very  highly  to  me." 

"Perhaps  we  had  better  take  this  one,"  she  said,  after 
a  few  minutes'  deliberation.  "  I  think  I  will  try  to  like  her, 
because  she  loves  the  baby,  and  the  little  thing  seemed  to 
take  to  her  immediately,"  she  continued,  smiling. 

"And  you  think  you  will  keep  her?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  hope  you  won't  have  cause  to  regret  it,"  said 
he;  and  he  related  to  her  the  conversation  he  had  had 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  I/ 

with  his  lawyer  that  evening  with  regard  to  her  going  in 
company  with  Judge  Holliday,  that  he  might  remain  until 
after  court.  "Only  one  week,  dear,"  he  continued,  "and 
then  I  will  start  immediately." 

To  this  proposition  she  consented,  but  in  her  heart  she 
felt  sadly  disappointed  at  not  having  her  husband  with  her 
as  she  anticipated ;  but  for  fear  of  making  him  feel  badly 
(and  woman  like)  she  concealed  her  real  feelings  from  him 
with  the  shadow  of  a  smile. 

A  good  wife  is  to  a  man  wisdom,  strength,  and  courage. 
A  bad  one  is  confusion,  weakness,  and  despair.  No  con- 
dition is  hopeless  to  a  man  that  possesses  a  good  wife — one 
that  is  possessed  with  firmness,  decision,  and  economy. 
Man  is  strong,  but  his  heart  is  not  adamant.  He  needs  a 
tranquil  home,  and  especially  if  he  is  an  intelligent  man, 
with  whole  head,  he  needs  its  moral  force  in  the  conflict  of 
life.  To  recover  his  composure,  home  must  be  a  place  of 
peace  and  comfort.  There  his  soul  renews  its  strength 
and  goes  forth  with  renewed  vigor  to  encounter  the  labors 
and  troubles  of  life.  But  if  at  home  he  finds  no  rest,  and 
there  is  met  with  bad  temper,  jealously,  and  gloom,  or 
assailed  with  complaints  or  censure,  hope  vanishes  and  he 
sinks  into  despair. 

%%%.%•%%.%;%.•%:>£ 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  the  great  iron  steed  thundered 
up  to  the  railway  depot,  puffing  and  blowing  as  if  the  mon- 
ster was  tired  out,  and  there  it  stood  still  panting. 
2 


1 8  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

"  But  now  unheard,  I  saw  afar 
His  cloud  of  windy  mane  ; 
Now,  level  as  a  blazing  star, 
He  thunders  thro'  the  plain. 

"  The  life  he  needs,  the  food  he  loves, 

This  cold  earth  bears  no  more ; 
He  fodders  on  the  eternal  groves 
That  heard  the  dragons  roar. 

"  Strong  with  the  feasl,  he  roars  and  runs, 

And  in  his  maw  unfurled 

Evolves  the  folded  fire  of  suns 

That  lit  a  grander  world. 

"  Disdainful  from  his  fiery  jaws 

He  snorts  his  vital  heat  ; 
And  easy  as  his  shadow  draws, 
Longdrawn,  the  living  street." 

The  train  that  evening  was  an  hour  late,  and  the  little 
party  for  the  springs  had  grown  impatient,  all  save  two, 
and  to  them  time  was  like  the  locomotive  which  would 
soon  separate  them. 

After  securing  a  sleeping  car  for  his  little  family,  and 
assuring  his  wife  that  he  would  be  with  them  as  soon  as 
business  would  permit  him,  he  kissed  her  and  baby  good- 
bye. For  a  moment  her  arms  clung  around  his  neck  and 
her  head  rested  upon  his  bosom,  which  had  been  its  rest- 
ing-place for  eighteen  months,  little  dreaming  that  it  would 
be  the  last  time  her  head  would  rest  there  in  life.  Only  a 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  19 

moment,  and  the  signal-bell  sounded !  Another  moment, 
and  the  train  was  lost  to  view,  dashing  through  the  midnight 
blackness. 

The  travelers  were  soon  tucked  away,  each  in  his  berth, 
and  oblivion  closed  their  eyes  to  the  headlong  career  of  the 
iron  steed  that  seemed  to  lead  them  to  destruction.  But 
there  were  two,  at  least,  that  refused  this  sweet  nectar. 
One,  the  schemer  and  plotter  of  a  hideous  crime ;  the 
other,  the  victim. 

For  a  long  time  Mrs.  St.  George  lay  tossing  upon  her 
sleepless  couch,  trying  in  vain  to  banish  the  sad  and 
gloomy  forebodings  that  assailed  her  pillow,  and  to  find 
rest  in  a  haven  of  sleep ;  but  she  could  not  sleep,  and  she 
arose  and  drew  back  the  curtain  and  sat  gazing  out  va- 
cantly into  the  shadows  with  fixed  and  fascinated  eyes, 
watching  the  gloomy  hills  and  the  black,  mysterious  woods 
that  seemed  to  her  as  if  their  density  shrouded  nameless 
horrors.  Then  watching  the  tall,  dark,  motionless  trees 
that  seemed  to  stand  like  specter-sentinels  stretching  out 
their  long  arms  beside  the  line,  watching  the  wayside  sta- 
tions where  the  men  waited  to  wave  aloft  the  light  that 
was  the  signal  of  safety,  and  where,  with  a  shrill  shriek 
cutting  the  pall  of  smoke,  and  without  a  pause  or  an 
instant's  slackening,  the  iron  monster  tore  past  in  a  storm 
of  thunder  and  fire — the  red  sparks  flying  and  flashing  up 
in  showers  from  the  glowing  wheels.  It  was  now  twelve 
o'clock,  but  sleep  refused  to  comfort  this  weary  traveler 


2O  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

until  overcome  by  exhaustion  she  dropped  into  a  feverish, 
troubled  slumber.  The  light  from  the  lamp  shone  upon 
her  pale,  white  face,  and  the  long,  silken  lashes  lay  heavily 
upon  her  tear-stained  cheeks.  Now  and  then  a  deep, 
heavy  sigh  escaped  her  lips,  and  once  a  dry  sob  shook  her 
frame  as  if  she  were  again  passing  through  the  painful 
ordeal  of  separation.  But  gradually  the  traces  of  emotion 
disappeared,  and  that  marvelous  peace  which  is  found  only 
in  the  countenances  of  children  or  on  the  faces  of  the 
dead  settled  like  a  benediction  over  her  features.  Once 
she  was  aroused  by  the  cry  of  her  baby,  which  the  nurse 
had  in  charge,  and  who  occupied  a  berth  opposite  hers, 
but  it  was  only  for  a  moment,  and  both  mother  and  infant 
were  again  sleeping  the  sleep  of  innocence. 

It  was  two  o'clock  when  the  train  stopped  for  water  and 
fuel,  and  a  woman,  with  a  fiendish  smile  playing  around 
her  mouth,  stealthily  drew  aside  the  curtain,  and  with  a 
cat-like  thread  walked  out  upon  the  platform  at  the  rear 
of  the  car.  She  looked  cautiously  around  her.  No  one 
observed  her  now,  and  the  baby  was  sleeping  quietly  in 
her  arms.  "  My  time  now,"  said  she,  with  a  chuckle,  and 
with  this  she  leaped  with  the  bound  of  a  tiger  and  disap- 
peared in  the  dark  woods,  hugging  close  to  her  breast  the 
sleeping  infant.  Again  the  signal-bell  sounded  and  the 
train  sped  on,  unmindful  of  the  distance  it  was  putting 
between  mother  and  child. 

And  that  mother,  all  unconscious  of  that  fearful  leap  of 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  21 

her  wandering  babe,  slept  on,  though  her  spirit  was 
with  her  darling;  for  in  her  wild,  feverish  dreams  she 
stretched  out  her  arms  to  catch  it  as  she  saw  it  fall  from  a 
high  precipice  and  dashed  upon  the  rocks  below.  In  her 
exertions  she  awoke,  bathed  in  a  cold  perspiration,  and  for 
some  moments  was  too  weak  and  exhausted  to  speak. 
Presently  she  drew  aside  the  curtain  and  called  the  nurse, 
but  no  answer  came,  and  thinking  both  nurse  and  baby 
were  asleep  she  fell  back  upon  her  pillow  and  moaned. 
"That  was  a  dreadful  dream,"  she  murmured;  "but  it  is 
so  foolish  of  me  to  worry  over  dreams  when  I  know  that 
my  darling  is  so  near  me  and  is  sleeping  so  sweetly." 
And  she  imagined  she  could  hear  its  peaceful,  low  breath- 
ing, and  hear  it  laughing  in  its  sleep,  and  cooing  to  the 
angels  as  they  hovered  around  it  arid  let  their  fingers 
wander  through  its  shining  hair. 

All  was  quiet  and  peaceful  within  save  the  gentle  foot- 
steps of  the  night-watch  and  the  heavy  breathing  of  the 
weary  travelers.  Without,  the  roaring  cf  the  train,  and 
the  keen  whistle  of  the  engine  as  it  plowed  through  the 
darkened  woods  and  wound  around  the  rugged  mountain 
sides.  Now  and  then  a  far-off  roll  of  thunder  faintly  shook 
the  hills  until  the  heavens,  riven  by  sheets  of  flame,  thrilled 
with  ominous  echoes,  and  zigzag  lightning  whirled  down 
the  murky  sky.  A  storm  was  threatening  darkly,  but 
the  storm-king  had  compassion  upon  the  little  wander- 
ing babe  and  hung  out  his  flag  of  peace,  and  the  stars 


22  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

stepped  forth  at  the  command  of  their  gentle  qireen,  and 
burned  like  altar  candles  around  the  throne  of  God,  until 
the  sweet  red  light  of  Aurora  relieved  the  shining  host  of 
their  faithful  vigil,  and  placed  her  flaming  banner  in  the 
east,  as  a  signal  for  the  coming  of  the  day-god.  Its  rosy 
light  fell  into  the  rapidly-moving  car  and  cast  a  glow  over 
the  drapery  and  upon  the  carpet. 

It  was  now  six  o'clock,  and  the  travelers  were  still 
sleeping,  and  the  morning  sun  was  streaming  through  the 
glass  doors,  its  golden  rays  striking,  in  discordant  brill- 
iancy, between  the  closely-drawn  curtains,  and  dancing  in 
dazzling  gleams  on  the  floor  as  gayly  as  though  no  tragedy 
had  been  enacted  between  its  setting  and  its  rising.  Mrs. 
St.  George  arose  and  went  feebly  to  the  nurse's  bed  in 
order  to  imprint  a  morning  kiss  upon  her  sleeping  babe, 
but  to  her  horror  the  bed  was  empty  and  the  nurse  and 
infant  nowhere  to  be  found.  She  called,  but  no  answer 
came;  she  searched  for  them,  but  in  vain.  Her  babe  was 
gone ;  no  loving  blue  eyes  looked  up  into  her  own ;  no 
cooing  laughter  fell  upon  her  ear ;  her  darling,  her  life  was 
gone.  Then  the  fearful  vision  flashed  before  her;  she  was 
warned  in  her  dreams,  but  too  late;  and  as  one  stricken 
by  a  heavy  blow  she  threw  up  her  hands  and  fell  to  the 
floor.  A  stifled  moan  and  a  ring  of  blood  told  where  the 
dagger  had  pierced — the  same  dagger,  grief,  which  has 
pierced  the  hearts  of  thousands,  and  which  seldom  kills, 
unless  it  strikes  the  vital  chord.  It  rankles  and  burns  in 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  2$ 

the  heart  until  it  ceases  to  beat,  and  cuts  and  festers,  little 
by  little,  until  the  victim  cries  for  mercy  in  the  sweet  arms 
of  death.  The  same  sunlight  that  stole  in  through  the 
closed  curtains  and  kissed  her  sleeping  brow  now  fell  upon 
her  prostrate  form  and  touched,  as  if  in  cruel  mockery, 
with  one  bright  ray  the  stained  and  matted  hair  it  used  to 
gild  so  gayly.  She  was  carried  by  gentle  hands  to  a 
country  inn,  where  she  was  cared  for  until  her  husband 
arrived.  Dr.  St.  George  brought  with  him  two  of  the  best 
physicians  in  the  city,  and  every  effort  was  made  to  save 
her  life,  but  to  no  avail.  A  blood-vessel  had  been  broken, 
and  the  grim  angel  of  death  bore  away  victory's  crown, 
and  the  fond  husband  of  eighteen  months  had  to  yield  up 
his  treasure  to  be  the  bride  of  Death. 

"I  am  dying;  kiss  me,  darling,"  were  the  feeble  words 
that  came  from  her  trembling  lips. 

I  am  dying  ;   kiss  me,  darling  ; 

Kiss  me  once  before  we  part ; 
Let  your  arms  entwine  me  fondly  ; 

Lay  your  head  upon  my  heart. 

I  am  dying  ;  kiss  me,  darling, 

While  my  eyes  are  free  from  tears  ; 
Let  your  arms  entwine  me  fondly, 

Gently  as  in  other  years. 

I  am  dying  ;   kiss  me,  darling  ; 

It  will  soothe  my  fevered  brow  ; 
Kiss  me  once  before  we  part, 

For  my  Saviour  calls  me  now. 


24  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

I  am  dying,  darling,  dying  ; 

Though  to-day  I'm  fever-flushed, 
Pale  will  be  my  cheeks  to-morrow, 

And  my  pleadings  will  be  hushed. 

I  am  dying  ;  kiss  me,  darling, 

Ere  my  lips  in  death  doth  freeze  ; 
For  the  angels  now  are  coming  ; 

I  see  their  pinions  ride  the  breeze. 

I  am  dying,  darling,  dying  ; 

Move  me  nearer  to  the  door, 
Raise  the  window,  ope  the  shutter, 

And  let  me  see  the  sun  once  more. 

Now  kiss  me,  darling,  once  again, 

Quickly;  it  will  soon  be  o'er; 
Press  my  hand  ;  I  can  not  see  ; 

One  more  pang,  and  all  is  o'er. 

"I  am  dying,"  she  said,  "and  will  never  see  my  baby 
again  in  this  world;  but  if  mothers  in  heaven  are  per- 
mitted to  look  down  upon  their  children  on  earth,  my  mis- 
sion will  ever  be  to  watch  over  our  lost  darling.  And 
before  I  go,  Robert,  promise  me  that  you  will  never  cease 
to  look  for  our  child  as  long  as  there  is  life.  And  if  you 
ever  find  her,  talk  to  her  of  me  when  she  grows  older, 
and  tell  her  how  I  died,  and  guard  her  as  you  would  your 
life.  And,  Robert,"  said  she  in  a  hoarse  voice,  "let  me 
die  in  your  arms,  darling." 

She  laid  her  head  upon  his  breast  and  looked  up  at 
him  with  the  sweet  content  of  a  little  child. 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  25 

"  It  is  hard  to  die  so  young,  Robert,"  said  she,  gently ; 
"  to  die,  to  leave  you  and  baby.  I  have  been  so  happy 
with  you,  Robert,  so  happy  with  you,  darling ;  and  now  I 
must  leave  you. 

"  O,  my  darling  wife,  my  angel,  how  am  I  to  bear  this?" 

The  white  hands  softly  clasped  his  own. 

"You  must  bear  it,"  she  said,  "for  baby's  sake.  I 
know  you  will  miss  me ;  but  you  will  find  our  darling,  and 
you  will  have  something  to  live  for.  But,  I  know  you 
will  love  me  always,  Robert.  Now  kiss  me,  darling ;  I  am 
dying." 

He  raised  her  gently  in  his  arms  and  pressed  his  lips  to 
hers,  her  head  with  its  pretty  gold  coil  fell  back  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  beneath  his  own  he  felt  her  lips  grow  cold 
and  still.  Presently  he  heard  one  long,  deep-drawn  sigh. 
Her  pure  spirit  had  fled,  and  her  last  words  were,  "Kiss 
me,  darling." 

Some  one  raised  the  beautiful  head  from  his  breast  and 
laid  it  back  upon  the  pillow.  The  snowy  eyelids  drooped 
over  the  azure  orbs,  and  the  long,  dark,  curling  lashes 
rested  on  the  pale  cheeks.  He  knew  she  was  his  no 
more. 

"Heaven  help  me !  "  he  cried.  He  tried  to  bear  it.  The 
words  of  his  dying  wife  rang  in  his  ears.  "Bear  it  for 
baby's  sake."  He  tried  to  rise,  but  his  strength  was  gone; 
and  with  a  cry  never  to  be  forgotten  by  those  who  heard  it, 
Dr.  St.  George  fell  with  his  face  to  the  floor. 


26  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

The  sun  of  another  day  had  risen,  waking  the  earth  to 
its  toils,  and  the  children  to  their  plays,  lifting  the  drooped 
bells  of  the  flowers,  and  rousing  the  butterflies  to  flutter 
in  its  golden  light,  giving  back  to  the  birds  their  song,  to 
the  waters  their  sparkle,  to  the  blue  seas  their  laughing; 
bringing  to  all  the  world  its  resurrection  from  the  silence 
and  gloom  of  night.  It  fell  in  shining  showers  upon  the 
floor ;  its  golden  beams  touched  the  beautiful  white  face  so 
still  and  solemn  in  death,  and  crept  among  her  glossy  ring- 
lets. But  though  its  light  touched  her  cheeks  to  warmth 
and  her  hair  to  gold,  it  had  no  spell  to  awake. 

"O,  death  where  is  thy  sting? 
O,  grave  where  is  thy  victory?" 

Kind  strangers  closed  the  violet  eyes  and  brushed  back 
the  golden  ringlets.  Some  one  gathered  some  beautiful 
white  hyacinths  and  laid  them  around  her  pillow  so  that 
she  looked  like  a  marble  bride  on  a  bed  of  flowers.  Death 
wore  no  stern  aspect  there;  the  agony  and  the  torture,, 
the  dread  and  fears  were  all  gone — all  forgotten.  There 
was  nothing  but  the  sweet  smile  of  one  at  perfect  rest. 

Dr.  St.  George,  still  crushed  by  his  great  grief,  lay  upon 
a  couch  in  the  next  room ;  not  a  tear  fell  from  his  burning 
eyes;  he  could  not  weep;  his  eyes  were  dry  and  burning. 
Could  he  have  wept,  tears  would  have  brought  some  relief 
to  his  aching  heart. 

"I  can  not  believe  it,"  he  said;  "or  believing  can  not 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  2/ 

realize  it.  That  she,  who  only  a  few  short  hours  ago  walked 
smilingly  by  my  side,  life  of  my  life,  soul  of  my  soul,  has 
gone  from  me  forever,  and  that  I  shall  see  her  no  more ! 
I  can  not,  I  will  not,  believe  it!  I  shall  hear  her  calling  for 
me  directly,  or  she  will  come  smiling  into  the  room  with 
baby  in  her  arms,  and  lay  it  in  my  lap.  Baby?"  he  said, 
with  a  startled  cry,  as  he  arose  from  the  lounge  with  a  wild 
expression  upon  his  face,  as  if  he  had  just  realized  the  sad 
truth  of  his  lost  baby.  So  poignant  was  his  grief  for  his 
dying  wife  it  seemed  impossible  to  add  another  drop  to  his 
cup  of  woe ;  but  when  he  mentioned  his  baby,  it  seemed 
to  arouse  him  to  a  sense  of  his  duty,  and  the  words  of  his 
dying  wife  rang  in  his  ears.  "Where  is  my  child?"  he 
said,  rising  and  walking  the  room.  "Heaven  help  me  to 
find  it!"  he  continued;  "  help  me  to  fulfill  my  promise  to 
that  angel  mother  who  is  now  watching  over  it!" 

The  kind  doctor  was  too  wise  to  make  any  endeavor  to 
stem  such  a  torrent  of  grief.  He  knew  it  must  have  its 
sway.  He  sat  patiently  listening,  speaking  when  he 
thought  a  word  would  be  useful.  Presently  St.  George 
arose  and  went  up  to  look  at  his  wife,  and  kneeling  by  her 
side,  Nature's  great  comforter  came  to  him.  He  wept 
tears  that  eased  the  burning  brain  and  lightened  the  heavy 
heart.  The  physician  permitted  them  to  flow  and  made 
no  effort  to  stop  them.  He  looked  with  infinite  pity  on  the 
tired  face.  What  a  storm ;  what  a  tempest  of  grief 
had  this  man  passed  through.  The  bereaved  man  was 


28  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

frantic  in  his  grief,  mad  with  the  sense  of  his  loss.  The 
doctor,  knowing  how  one  great  sorrow  counteracts  another, 
spoke  of  his  stolen  child  ;  reminded  him  that  if  he  wished 
to  find  his  baby  he  must  take  some  care  of  himself.  ' '  Your 
grief  is  poignant, ' '  said  he  ;  "  but  I  believe  you  are  a  strong 
man,  a  brave  man,  and  in  grief  of  this  kind  the  first  great 
thing  is  to  regain  self-control." 

Mrs.  St.  George  was  taken  back  to  her  beautiful  home 
and  laid  to  rest  beneath  the  shadows  of  the  elm  trees,  and 
the  tall  gray  spire  of  the  church  arose  in  the  distance  like 
a  finger  pointing  to  heaven.  And  thus 

They  left  her  silent  and  alone, 

Snatched  ruthlessly  away  from  her  beautiful  home, 

To  sleep  the  grand  sleep,  so  solemn,  so  still, 

In  her  little  clay  house  by  the  side  of  the  hill. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A    WAIL    OF    GRIEF    IN    THE    CITY    OF   THE    DEAD. 

Twilight  was  winging  her  noiseless  way  from  heaven  to 
wrap  the  temple  of  the  dead  in  her  soft,  transparent  dra- 
pery when  I  wandered  into  the  cemetery  of  Cave  Hill  to 
muse  upon  the  fading  loveliness  of  the  setting  sun  and 
upon  the  holy  memories  of  the  departed.  It  was  one  of 
those  sweet  days  in  May,  when  it  seems  impossible  to  be- 
lieve in  anything  but  what  is  good  and  true  and  beautiful, 
when  the  dewdrops  and  flowers  and  the  sunset  take  our 
hearts  and  thoughts  to  heaven,  where  all  is  light,  all  is 
beauty,  all  is  love — a  region  of  mellowed  bliss.  The  sun 
had  sunk  to  rest  behind  the  distant  hills,  and  the  gentle 
queen  had  unfurled  her  silvery  banner  and  it  was  floating 
gently  and  solemnly  over  the  moss-covered  graves,  making 
luminous  the  white  sculptured  marble,  and  the  stars  looked 
down  in  holy  tranquillity  upon  the  silent  scene. 

Silence  prevailed  in  this  great  city  of  the  dead.  It  was 

decoration  day,  and  the  people  of  L had  spared  neither 

money  nor  labor  in  bestowing  memorial  gifts  upon  the 
graves  of  the  dead.  From  every  slab  hung  wreaths  and 
festoons  of  the  most  exquisite  flowers,  and  the  dark-green 

(29) 


3O  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

ivy  trailed  itself  along  upon  the  gently-curved  mound  and 
seemed  to  whisper  in  its  silent  language  to  the  gallant  dead 
below. 

I  was  fond  of  symbolizing.  Every  inanimate  thing  had 
its  type  in  some  ideal  or  oriental  fancy.  This  evening  I 
felt  particularly  poetical.  My  imagination  was  as  fertile — 
yes,  I  thought  as  fertile,  as  Milton's,  if  my  thoughts  were 
not  so  grand  or  my  images  so  sublime.  I  sauntered  care- 
lessly along,  stopping  now  and  then  to  read  an  inscription 
or  inhale  the  perfume  of  a  favorite  flower.  Suddenly  I 
paused  before  a  beautiful  lot,  its  tiny  silver  fountain  bub- 
bling up  and  breaking  into  white  sprays  that  glittered  like 
hoar  frost  in  the  gentle  twilight.  I  sat  me  down  beneath 
a  beautiful  spreading  beech  and  took  out  my  note-book 
and  pencil,  and  there  in  the  peaceful  solitude  of  the  dead 
I  traced  upon  its  pages  the  thoughts  that  were  uppermost 
in  my  mind ;  for  the  sweet,  tranquil,  lonesome,  voiceless 
resting-place  of  the  silent  dead  and  its  surroundings  had 
stirred  my  enthusiasm,  for  this  peaceful  abode  of  quietude 
and  rest  caused  me  to  meditate,  wondering  where  my  little 
mansion  of  clay  would  be  erected.  As  I  was  a  citizen  of 
the  world,  with  no  permanent  home  of  my  own,  I  felt 
uncertain  in  what  quarter  of  the  globe  I  would  be  laid.  I 
knew  that  I  was  entitled  to  a  spot,  six  by  four,  somewhere 
in  the  broad  domain  of  our  beautiful  land,  where  I  would 
be  laid  as  peacefully  and  gently  to  rest  as  those  who  then 
were  sleeping  their  last  sleep  beneath  roses  and  moss- 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  31 

covered  mounds.  But  was  there  one  of  this  vast  creation 
that  would  shed  a  tear  or  plant  one  single  flower  upon  my 
lonely  grave?  So  in  this  state  of  mind  I  wrote  the  follow- 
ing lines : 

There  is  a  spot  somewhere  for  me, 

And  I've  often  wondered  where  'twill  be — 

A  little  spot,  just  six  by  four; 

I  mean  a  grave,  and  nothing  more. 

Perhaps  beneath  some  woodland  shade 
My  lonely  bed  will  there  be  made, 
Where  the  wounded  deer  will  stop  and  sigh, 
Fall  on  my  grave,  and  bleed  and  die. 

Perhaps  I'll  in  some  graveyard  sleep 

With  a  marble  slab  at  my  head  and  feet ; 

A  little  rosebush  may  near  me  stand, 

And  a  flower  may  drop  from  a  stranger's  hand. 

Perhaps  I'll  in  some  church-yard  lie 
With  spire  reaching  to  the  sky, 
Or  in  some  beautiful  garden  fair ; 
Perhaps,  O,  perhaps  it  will  be  there. 

Though  it  matters  not  where'er  I'm  laid, 
Let  the  willow  be  my  only  shade, 
That  its  silver  branches  may  o'er  me  wave 
And  weep  in  silence  o'er  my  grave. 

I  know  for  me  it  will  breathe  a  sigh, 
And  weep  when  others'  tears  are  dry — 
Weep  when  the  morning  sun  is  bright, 
Weep  in  the  folding  glooms  of  night. 


32  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

Weep  when  blushing  flowers  bloom, 
Filling  earth  with  their  sweet  perfume  ; 
Weep  when  the  laughing  waters  meet 
To  ripple  at  their  rosy  feet. 

Weep  when  the  shades  of  evening  fall 
Like  to  the  folding  of  a  pall ; 
Weep  when  the  dew  is  on  the  rose, 
And  never  sleep  while  I  repose. 

Distant  thunder,  or  the  rustling  of  the  leaves,  or  the 
whistle  of  the  whippoorwill, 

Every  sound  that  breaks  the  silence 

Only  makes  it  more  profound, 
Like  a  crash  of  deaf 'ning  thunder 

In  the  sweet,  blue  stillness  round. 
Let  the  soul  walk  softly  in  thee 

As  a  saint  in  Heaven  unshod  ; 
For  to  be  alone  with  silence 

Is  to  be  alone  with  God. 

"Voice  of  silence,  thou  art  speaking 

From  the  places  of  the  past 
On  whose  old  memoric  windows 

Faces  full  of  life  are  cast, 
Where  the  King  of  Thought,  enthroned 

Like  a  star  on  midnight's  peak, 
Rules  the  world  with  silent  spirits 

Who,  though  being  dead,  yet  speak." 

The  walks  were  shaded  by  dark-green  arbor-vitae  and 
low,  whispering  cedars,  and  the  tall  elm  trees  stretched 
out  their  gnarled  arms  and  leafy  hands,  hushing  the  world 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  33 

down  for  the  sweet,  still  benediction  of  the  soft,  stealing 
winds  sweeping  among  the  graceful  ferns  and  nestling 
violets  and  over  the  velvet  moss  with  noiseless  tread. 

Presently  I  looked  around  me,  and  for  the  first  time 
perceived  that  it  was  night.  The  fair  queen,  with  her 
maids  of  honor,  was  sitting  upon  her  silver  throne,  ruling 
the  world  with  her  bright  scepter,  making  luminous  the 
nocturnal  clouds  and  changing  them  into  a  bed  of  silver. 
The  sweet  olive  blossoms  lay  scattered  upon  the  green 
grass,  and  were  like  little  tracts  from  heaven,  dropped  by 
the  fingers  of  the  fairies.  The  gentle  dews  were  falling, 
and  the  flowers  that  had  been  plucked  by  gentle  hands  to 
die  beneath  the  scorching  rays  of  the  sun  raised  their 
drooping  heads  in  grateful  acknowledgment  of  the  rich 
blessing ;  and  as  it"  in  return  for  Vesper's  gracious  gift, 
they  sent  forth  their  fragrant  perfume  broadcast  over  the 
land,  wave  after  wave,  until  the  very  air  was  fragrant  with 
their  dying  breath.  The  birds  were  nestling  in  the  tree- 
tops,  and  as  each  one  tucked  his  tiny  head  beneath  his  wing 
he  seemed  to  say,  Buenos  noches,  Senorita.  So  absorbed 
was  I  in  my  poetical  thoughts,  I  heeded  not  the  fleeting 
hours,  nor  the  deepening  shades  of  night,  until  a  low, 
smothering  sob  fell  upon  my  ear.  "Every  heart  has  its 
sorrows,"  said  I,  rising  to  take  my  departure. 

It  was  my  intention  to  leave  as  quietly  as  possible,  that 
I  might  not  disturb  the  mourner,  who  had  evidently 
sought  this  hour  that  he  might  be  free  from  all  watching 
3 


34  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

eyes ;  where  he  could  fling  himself  upon  the  grave  of  his 
loved  one,  and  moan  and  cry  aloud  against  his  fate,  unseen 
and  unheard,  with  only  the  friendly  twilight,  and  the  stars 
of  heaven,  and  the  birds  of  the  air  to  overhear  him.  I 
turned  my  head  and  directed  my  eyes  to  the  spot  whence 
the  sound  came,  but  not  through  idle  curiosity  to  see  a 
fellow-creature  suffer;  but  to  suffer  with  him,  to  feel  and 
to  sympathize,  for  there  floated  back  upon  the  tide  of  my 
memory  scenes  of  by-gone  years.  A  face,  a  form,  that 
was  as  dear  to  me,  and  that  I  had  seen  laid  as  low  as  the 
one  for  whom  he  was  pouring  out  his  grief. 

I  too  had  wept  as  he  was  weeping, 
I  too  had  felt  what  he  was  feeling. 

I  saw  before  me  a  new-made  grave  over  which  the 
autumn  leaves  had  never  fallen  nor  the  spring  flowers 
bloomed. 

Somebody's  darling  had  wandered  away, 
Beneath  the  cold  sod  she  was  buried  that  day  ; 
Somebody's  darling  was  sweetly  sleeping 
As  somebody  o'er  her  grave  was  weeping. 

Upon  the  grave  were  two  beautiful  wreaths  of  pure 
white  lilies;  in  the  center  was  an  exquisite  cross  of  tube 
roses,  which  were  breaking  their  rich,  sweet  hearts  upon 
the  dewy  air. 

Kneeling  by  the  grave  was  a  young  man  with  clenched 
hands  and  bowed  form,  and  bosom  heaving  with  choking 
sobs  as  if  his  soul  were  taking  its  departure. 


A  I5F.AUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  35 

"O,  my  darling!"  he  exclaimed,  "if  mothers  in 
heaven  are  permitted  to  look  down  upon  their  children  on 
earth,  I  know  you  will  watch  over  our  lost,  lost  baby." 

Then  as  if  some  heavy  weight  were  pressing  his  spirit 
and  crushing  out  his  very  life,  he  stretched  out  his  hands 

• 

as  if  to  grasp  something  for  support  and  fell  senseless  upon 
the  grave.  The  strength  of  his  manhood  was  gone.  He 
had  fainted  and  lay  as  cold  and  as  rigid  as  the  one  over 
whom  he  had  been  weeping.  I  ran  over  to  the  next  lot 
and  picked  up  a  large  shell  and  filled  it  with  water  from 
the  fountain  that  I  had  watched  with  so  much  interest, 
and  hastened  to  him.  I  raised  his  head,  and  with  my  'ker- 
chief bathed  his  face  and  temples  in  the  cool  water,  which 
soon  restored  him  to  consciousness. 

.  "Did  I  faint?"  said  he,  raising  his  grateful  eyes  to  my 
own. 

"Yes,'"  said  I,  "you  fainted;  you  seem  to  be  very 
weak.  I  saw  you  fall,"  I  continued,  "and  came  to  your 
assistance  ;  I  hope  you  are  feeling  much  better  now." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  said  he,  "but  it  would  have 
been  far  better  for  me  if  you  had  let  me  die." 

"Perhaps  it  is  not  God's  will  that  you  should  die,"  I 
replied  ;  "  perhaps  He  has  some  mission  for  you  to  perform 
before  it  would  please  Him  to  take  you ;  besides,  we  are 
not  put  into  this  world  to  remain  until  it  should  please  us 
to  leave  it ;  we  do  not  hold  our  destinies  in  our  own  hands, 
if  we  did  the  world  would  soon  be  demolished,  and  our 


36  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

beautiful  world  would  be  transformed  into  a  pandemo- 
nium." 

"Ah,"  said  he,  shaking  his  head  mournfully,  "I  have 
no  desire  to  live  any  longer.  I  have  nothing  in  this  world 
to  live  for  now,  and  to  me,  at  least,  the  world  is  not  beau- 
tiful; it  has  lost  its  charms,  and  my  whole  life  seems  a 
blank,  for  my  spirit  is  broken,  and  my  heart  is  crushed 
and  bleeding,  and  beneath  this  mound  of  clay  lies  buried 
all  my  joys,  my  hopes,  and  my  aspirations.  When  I  laid 
the  darling  of  my  bosom  to  rest  beneath  this  sod — too 
cold  for  a  soul  so  warm  and  true — there  I  buried  my  heart 
also.  There  is  nothing  left  but  its  dead,  white  ashes,  en- 
cased in  a  shattered  frame.  If  I  could  weep  perhaps  it 
would  be  some  relief,  but  I  can  not ;  my  grief  is  too  deep 
for  tears." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,"  said  I,  "  and  wish  it  were  in  my 
power  to  alleviate  your  distress.  Is  there  nothing  that  I 
can  do  for  you?"  I  asked,  laying  my  hand  gently  upon 
his  shoulder ;  "  if  there  is,  do  not  hesitate  to  tell  me.  I 
know  that  I  am  a  stranger  to  you,  but  not  to  sorrow.  I 
have  been  rocked  in  that  cradle  from  my  infancy,  and  have 
traversed  every  foot-path,  and  well  can  I  sympathize  with 
you,  for  it  is  only  those  who  have  drunk  deeply  of  the  cup 
that  can  melt  at  the  sight  of  another's  sorrow.  Besides,  I 
have  often  seen  the  stranger  pour  balm  upon  the  wound 
inflicted  by  friendship's  hand." 

I   said  this,  little  dreaming  that  the  poisonous  arrow 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  37 

which  had  pierced  the  heart  of  this  sorrow-stricken  man, 
and  had  left  it  torn  and  bleeding,  had  come  direct  from  the 
hand  of  friendship. 

Philosophers  have  preached  and  vowed  that  human  life 
is  the  simplest  compound  except  clear  water,  and  I  have 
been  very  desirous  of  discovering  the  mysteries  of  our 
being  and  our  will ;  but  alas !  what  have  I  gained  ?  A 
clouded  genius  and  an  aching  brain.  And  to-night  as  I 
sit  alone  in  my  chamber  pondering  perplexing  questions 
and  tangled  problems  that  mother  Nature  has  set  before 
her  truant  children  that  weep  upon  her  indulgent  and  ma- 
ternal breast,  there  arise  thoughts,  like  nymphs  from  their 
caves  when  sets  the  sun,  that  I  endeavor  to  crush  out  from 
my  mind,  and  I  raise  my  eyes  to  heaven,  the  throne  of 
truth,  and  ask  these  questions  : 

Tell  me,  O  fair  queen  of  night, 

With  your  glittering,  twinkling  train, 

Is  it  true,  as  Goldsmith  says, 

That  Friendship's  "  but  a  name  ?  " 

Know  ye  one  that  has  never 

Loved  and  believed  ? 
Know  ye  one  that  has  never 

Trusted  and  been  deceived  ? 

Do  hearts  on  earth  e'er  love 

With  feeling  that  will  last? 
Do  passions  ever  come 

That  are  not  swiftly  passed  ? 


38  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

O,  tell  me,  gentle  breezes, 

As  you  kiss  the  smitten  cheek, 
Do  you  not  detect  with  sadness, 

Some  traces  of  deceit  ? 

As  if  in  answer  to  my  appeal  the  glorious  queen  hid 
her  face  for  shame  behind  a  cloud,  and  the  bright  constel- 
lations, one  by  one,  stepped  from  their  silvery  thrones,  and 
the  wind  moaned,  and  the  clouds  shed  tears  of  sorrow  for 
poor  fallen  humanity.  Then  my  eyes  fell  to  earth,  and  I 
appealed  to  the  terrestrial : 

O,  tell  me,  lofty  mountains, 

Are  joys  not  all  as  fleet 
As  sparkling  gems  of  sunshine 

That  play  around  thy  feet  ? 

O,  tell  me,  surging  billows, 

That  rock  the  mighty  deep, 
Did  e'er  a  heart,  tried  and  true, 

Upon  thy  bosom  sleep  ? 

Tell  me,  maiden,  has  there  e'er 

A  sunbeam  round  thee  played, 
That  did  not  take  a  darker  hue 

And  creep  into  the  shade  ? 

And  when  you  join  the  mad'ning  throng, 

And  yield  to  passion's  power, 
Would  you  not  be  happier  still 

In  some  quiet,  peaceful  bower  ? 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  39 

Tell  me,  O  loving  hearts, 

Doth  not  the  mind  oft  see 
The  love  that  is  thy  life 

Turn  silently  from  thee? 

O,  tell  me,  queen  of  flowers, 

Is  yours  a  happy  band  ? 
Do  you  ever  have  contention 

To  mar  your  fairyland  ? 

Do  you  ever  hear  them  gossip ; 

And  tell  their  idle  tales 
Upon  some  sister  flower 

Who  tried  to  bloom  and  failed? 

Does  not  the  haughty  dahlia, 

Look  down  with  jealous  eye 
'Pon  the  little  blue-eyed  daisy, 

As  she  modestly  nestles  by  ? 

And  the  aristocratic  fuchsia 

With  anger  shake  her  bell 
To  see  the  yellow  daffodil 

Sprout  near  her  little  dell  ? 

O,  tell  me,  king  of  the  forest, 

With  your  happy  feathery  tribe, 
Do  you  ever  catch  them  flirting 

With  their  next-door  neighbor's  bride? 

O,  tell  me,  warbling  songsters, 

As  you  sing  from  spray  to  spray, 
Do  you  ever  have  discord, 

To  spoil  your  pretty  lay? 


4O  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

O,  tell  me,  priests  and  parsons, 

Who  bow  for  us  in  prayer, 
Did  you  ever  in  your  closet  find 

A  skeleton  hidden  there? 

Excuse  my  interrogations, 

And  pardon  my  dubious  lay, 
For  misery  seeks  for  company, 

I've  often  heard  them  say. 

"You  are  very  kind,"  said  the  young  man,  "and  you 
must  excuse  me  for  forgetting  to  thank  you ;  I  am  but  a 
stranger,  as  you  say,  and  yet  a  sister  could  not  have  done 
more  than  you  have  done." 

"Please  don't  thank  me,"  said  I,  "for  I  have  only 
done  my  duty,  and  I  have  done  nothing  more  than  you 
would  have  done  for  me  had  I  been  in  your  place,  and  I 
only  wish  I  could  do  more  to  alleviate  your  distress." 

"That  is  out  of  the  power  of  human,"  said  he,  mourn- 
fully. "  In  my  short  life  a  great  sorrow  has  fallen  upon  me, 
greater  than  falls  to  the  lot  of  most  people,  and  there  are 
only  two  ways  to  meet  it;  one  to  bow  my  head  in  low 
submission,  and  the  other  to  spend  the  remainder  of  my 
wretched  life  in  hunting  down  the  abductor  of  my  child, 
and  the  murderer  of  my  wife ;  I  say  murderer,  for  had  it 
not  been  for  that  she  would  now  be  living." 

"Then  you  are  Dr.  St.  George,  the  father  of  the  ab- 
ducted child  of  whom  I  read  in  the  Courier-Journal  this 
morning,"  said  I. 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  4! 

He  nodded  his  head  in  assent,  and  for  the  first  time  I 
saw  a  tear  tremble  upon  his  lids. 

"I  suppose  you  have  detectives  at  work?"  I  asked, 
after  there  had  been  silence  for  some  minutes. 

"Yes,"  he  answered;  "men  of  indomitable  pluck  and 
courage,  but  I  have  no  hopes  of  ever  recovering  her." 

"What  a  pity  it  is  a  girl,"  said  I,  all  unaware  of  the 
effect  my  words  would  produce,  until  the  pent-up  tears 
that  had  been  struggling  for  liberation  no  longer  concealed 
themselves,  but  streamed  down  his  cheeks  in  torrents.  I 
bowed  my  head  in  my  hands,  and  my  own  tears,  that  had 
been  standing  like  sentinels,  leaped  forth,  and  I  cried  as  I 
had  not  done  since  I  was  a  child.  But  they  were  only 
a  woman's  tears,  and  I  had  shed  thousands  of  them  before, 
and  I  had  been  accustomed  to  them  from  the  first  hour  I 
came  into  the  world  up  to  the  present  moment.  But  to 
see  tears  streaming  from  the  eyes  of  a  man  was  something 
I  had  not  been  accustomed  to,  and  it  touched  my  heart  as 
it  had  not  been  for  years.  What  bitter  grief,  what  un- 
utterable sorrow  it  must  have  been  to  wring  such  tears 
from  his  heart !  I  let  them  flow,  and  I  did  not  try  to  stop 
them ;  for  words,  like  tears,  will  bring  relief,  and  I  had  no 
consolation  to  offer;  but  after  his  grief  had  somewhat  sub- 
sided, I  said,  "Dr.  St.  George,  I  believe  that  you  will 
one  day  find  your  child,  but  it  will  depend  upon  your 
exertions  and  patience,  but  mostly  upon  the  state  of  your 
mind ;  and  if  you  don't  try  to  brace  yourself  up  to  go 


42  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

through  this  trying  ordeal,  and  not  give  way  to  your  feel- 
ings, your  mind  will  become  impaired,  and  then  you  will 
not  be  adequate  to  the  task  before  you,  and  all  traces  of 
your  child  will  be  lost;  and  should  she  live  you  don't  know 
what  vile  hands  she  may  fall  into,  nor  what  her  lot  may 
be,  for  this  is  a  vile  world.  Now,  for  the  sake  of  your 
little  one,  and  for  the  pleasure  of  that  one  in  heaven  who 
is  now  smiling  upon  her  lost  baby,  and  is  ever  watching 
over  it,  forget  your  own  sorrows  and  bear  up  bravely, 
and  trust  in  Him  who  'watches  every  sparrow  that  falleth 
to  the  ground.'  You  will  one  day  find  your  child.  Who- 
ever has  abducted  it  has  evidently  adopted  this  plan  to 
obtain  money  from  you." 

When  he  raised  his  face  it  was  so  changed  I  hardly 
knew  it.  The  white  pallor  had  all  disappeared,  and  the 
hot  blood  was  coursing  wildly  through  his  veins,  and  his 
face  seemed  to  acquire  a  new  expression.  I  saw  lines  of 
firm  endurance,  of  patient  gravity,  self-control,  and  self- 
restraint  deepening  thereon. 

"I  thank  you,  my  friend,''  said  he,  extending  his  hand, 
"I  thank  you  for  uttering  your  sentiments  so  frankly,  for 
you  have  spoken  truthfully,  and  every  word  that  you  have 
said  has  already  been  in  my  serious  thoughts;  but  you 
have  aroused  me  to  a  sense  of  my  duty  as  no  one  else 
ever  has.  I  will  take  your  advice,  and  if  I  never  find  my 
child  it  shall  not  be  for  the  lack  of  manhood,  energy,  and 
perseverance.  I  will  not  leave  one  stone  unturned." 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  43 

"May  God  crown  your  efforts  with  success!"  I  said, 
"and  may  your  child  and  your  happiness  be  restored. 
This  will  ever  be  my  prayer;  and  if  I  can  be  of  any  service 
to  you  in  any  way,  I  hope  you  will  not  hesitate  to  tell 
me  so." 

"Thank  you,"  said  he,  "and  I  assure  you  that  I  will 
not  hesitate  one  moment,  for  I  believe  that  I  have  found 
in  you  a  warm  and  valuable  friend." 

We  had  been  walking  slowly  along,  for  he  was  too  weak 
to  walk  fast,  and  had  just  reached  the  cemetery  gate  when 
a  cab  passed,  and  he  motioned  for  it  to  stop ;  then  turning 
to  me,  he  said,  "Allow  me  to  take  you  home,  as  it  is  too 
dark  for  a  lady  to  go  so  far  alone  at  this  hour.  Your  sym- 
pathetic heart  has  been  the  cause  of  your  delay,  and  I  feel 
that  you  were  sent  to  me  as  a  blessing;  but  you  have  not 
told  me  your  name  yet." 

"I  am  only  a  stranger  in  the  city,"  said  I,  "and — 

' '  But  you  have  a  name  ?  " 

"My  name  is  Lilian  Ainsley, "  said  I,  blushing,  for  I 
always  had  an  aversion  to  telling  my  name,  and,  as  it  hap- 
pened, I  had  no  cards  with  me  at  that  time. 

We  entered  the  cab  after  giving  the  order,  and  it  was 
not  long  before  we  were  reined  up  in  front  of  the  hotel 
where  I  was  stopping.  Dr.  St.  George  made  a  motion  to 
assist  me,  but  I  laid  my  hand  upon  his  arm  and  said : 
"You  will  please  remain  in  the  cab;  the  driver  will  assist 
me." 


44  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

He  seemed  to  understand  me,  and  remained  in  the  cab. 

In  my  short  life  I  have  learned,  perhaps,  more  of  the 
ways  of  the  world  than  most  persons  of  my  age.  I  have 
seen  that  hideous  monster  every  one  is  familiar  with, 
in  all  shapes,  size,  and  color — old  green-eyed  gossip,  with 
forked  tongue,  cloven  feet,  standing  at  every  corner,  stalk- 
ing up  and  down  upon  the  highway,  from  the  halls  of  the 
wealthy  to  the  hovels  of  the  lowly,  and  even  into  the 
aisles  of  the  churches  and  through  the  adamantine  walls 
of  the  prisons ;  and  I  knew  he  was  not  far  off,  and  if  he 
saw  Dr.  St.  George  riding  with  a  young  lady  on  the  same 
day  his  wife  was  buried  he  would  smile  the  same  smile  that 
old  Satan  did  behind  the  tree  when  Eve  partook  of  the 
apple.  But  I  cheated  him  by  not  permitting  that  gentle- 
man to  hand  me  out  of  the  carriage.  And  I  shall  always 
feel  more  kindly  toward  Madam  Eve  for  having  presence 
of  mind  enough  to  take  a  good  bite  of  the  apple  before 
Adam  gobbled  it  all  up,  and  thereby  transmitting  a  small 
portion  of  knowledge  to  her  fair  descendants. 


CHAPTER  III. 

• 
THE    PHANTOM  OF  THE  NIGHT,    OR   THE   MYSTERIOUS    LETTER. 

After  bidding  Dr.  St.  George  good-by  I  went  to  my  room 
and  made  a  hasty  toilet  for  supper  and  then  descended  to 
the  dining-room ;  not  that  I  wanted  anything  to  eat,  for 
I  was  not  hungry,  but  simply  to  pass  off  the  time  that 
hung  heavily  upon  my  hands.  I  could  not  read,  I  could 
not  sleep,  I  could  do  nothing  but  wonder  and  wonder  and 
wonder,  and  finally  I  found  myself  in  a  wonderful  stew. 
I  took  my  accustomed  seat  at  the  table  and  looked  around 
the  well  filled  salon  bajo,  and,  as  I  did  so,  thought  I  to  my- 
self, if  every  one  feels  as  little  like  eating  as  I  do  the 
landlord  would  not  have  to  incur  the  expenses  of  another 
bill  of  fare  for  breakfast  the  next  morning,  but  my  con- 
jecture in  behalf  of  the  landlord  was  to  no  purpose ;  every 
one  seemed  to  enjoy  the  full  benefit  of  his  dinero,  and 
laughed  and  jested  with  as  much  hilarity  as  if  a  fellow- 
creature's  heart  was  not  bursting  with  grief  only  a  few 
rods  off.  After  taking  my  un  tay  de  cafe  I  again  sought 
my  mi  cuarto,  which  seemed  almost  too  small  to  hold  me. 
I  felt  depressed  and  restless,  and,  after  promenading  my 
room  for  several  minutes,  I  threw  myself  in  an  easy  chair 

(45) 


46  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

and  tried  to  compose  my  feelings  and  collect  my  scattered 
thoughts,  all  unaware  that  Morpheus  was  hovering  over 
me  until  he  had  me  securely  in  his  embrace.  Again  I  was 
wandering  in  the  city  of  the  dead.  Again  I  stood  by  the 
newly-made  grave,  but  a  different  spectacle  presented 
itself  to  my  visionary  sight.  Instead  of  the  bowed  form 
of  a  mourner,  there  was  a  beautiful  infant  cradled  upon  the 
yellow  mound,  smiling  and  cooing.  I  hastened  to  take  it 
in  my  arms,  but  before  I  reached  the  spot  a  large  eagle 
swooped  down  and  gathered  it  in  his  claws  and  flew  away. 
I  screamed  as  loud  as  my  vocal  chords  would  permit — 
which  awoke  me,  and  I  arose  and  staggered  to  the  door, 
for  at  that  instant  I  heard  a  low  tap  upon  it. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you?"  asked  the 
chambermaid,  staring  at  me  as  though  she  had  suddenly- 
come  in  contact  with  a  ghost. 

"You  may  bring  me  a  pitcher  of  aquafrio." 

"  Es  muytarde?  " 

"  Es  temprana  to  davia.  I  dropped  off  to  sleep  just 
now,"  said  I,  "and  I  had  a  fearful  dream ;  and  I  was  afraid 
that  I  had  alarmed  the  house ;  for  I  hallooed  loud  enough 
to  awake  the  seven  sleepers." 

"Laus  massy,  honey,"  said  the  old  chambermaid,  "  we 
see  enough  and  hear  enough  these  days  to  make  one  dream 
bad  dreams,  see  ghosts,  and  have  nightmare." 

"Yes,  Aunt  Jennie,"  said  I,  "you  speak  truly;  for  I 
have  had  some  experience  in  the  ways  of  the  world  my- 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  47 

self;  and  to-day  I  have  heard  enough  to  make  me  doubt 
the  world,  and  believe  there  is  nothing  true  this  side  the 
sod." 

"You  have  heard  about  the  conduction  of  Dr.  St. 
George's  child,  then?"  said  she. 

' '  I  have  heard  about  the  abduction  of  Dr.  St.  George's 
child,"  said  I,  smiling  at  Aunt  Jennie's  error,  "and  I  sup- 
pose that  is  why  I  had. that  fearful  dream." 

"No  wonder  you  dream,"  she  replied,  "when  you  are 
in  the  very  same  room  that  old,  mean  woman  slept  in  the 
night  before  she  stole  the  child." 

"Then  you  have  seen  her!  "  I  replied.  "  Do  sit  down 
and  tell  me  all  about  her  ;  and  what  was  she  like  ?  " 

The  conversation  had  become  intere'sting  now,  and  I 
was  as  much  absorbed  in  Aunt  Jennie's  tete-a-tete  as  I  ever 
was  in  Major  Penn's  sermons. 

"  Laus,  honey,  I  jest  tell  you  if  she  didn't  jest  look 
like  old  Satan  himself." 

"Well,  well,  Aunt  Jennie,"  said  I,  laughing,  "  as  I 
have  never  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  ese  caballero  I  can 
not  have  the  faintest  idea  of  what  kind  of  a  looking  creat- 
ure she  is." 

' '  Have  you  ever  seen  old  John  Nailer  ?  "  said  she,  ' '  the 
man  who  was  put  in  the  penitentiary  for  murder,  and  broke 
out  a  few  weeks  ago.  If  you  have,  then  you  have  seen 
her  image,  for  she  is  the  very  spirit  of  him.  All  the  dif- 
ference is,  he  had  short  hair  that  hung  like  black,  greasy 


48  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

strings  around  his  neck,  and  she  had  it  screwed  up  in  a 
little  knot  at  the  back  of  her  head,  and  wore  a  gourded 
calico  dress." 

"  How  long  did  she  remain,  Aunt  Jennie  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Only  one  night,"  she  replied.  "She  got  here  on  the 
nine  o'clock  train,  arid  left  the  next  morning,  saying  she 
was  going  to  nurse  for  Mrs.  St.  George,  and  the  next  thing 
we  heard  was  that  she  had  run  off  with  the  baby." 

"  Are  you  sure  she  was  a  woman,  Aunt  Jennie  ?  "  said 
I,  feeling  somewhat  dubious  in  regard  to  the  sex.  (i  How 
do  you  know  but  what  it  was  a  man  dressed  in  woman's 
clothes  ?  "  I  added. 

"Laus  massie,  honey,  I'm  sure  it  was  a  woman;  for  if 
it  wan't.a  woman  I'm  not." 

"  Why  are  you  so  positive,  Aunt  Jennie  ?  "  I  replied  ; 
"  a  man  can  disguise  himself  very  easily." 

"Because  she  just  talked  and  talked  the  whole  time  I 
was  in  here,  telling  me  how  many  dresses  she  had,  and 
how  they  were  made,  and  what  they  cost,  and  how  many 
ladies  she  had  nursed  for;  and  then  she  tried  to  put  on  so 
many  airs,  too  ;  but  the  funniest  thing  of  all  was  she  had 
on  one  of  those  hoop  things — what  do  you  call  'um? 
those  things  that  stick  out  behind  ;  I  have  forgotten  the 
name  of  'um." 

"  I  suppose  it  was  a  tilter, "  said  I. 

' '  That's  it,  honey ;  but  she  did  not  know  how  to  sit 
down  in  it,  for  she  would  pick  it  up  and  drop  it  in  the 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  49 

chair,  and  then  sit  down ;  I  know  it  was  the  first  she  ever 
had." 

"  Do  you  remember  what  day  she  came?"  said  I,  try- 
ing to  divert  her  mind  if  possible  from  the  tilter  question, 
and  thinking  perhaps  that  she  would  tell  me  something 
which  would  lead  to  the  recovery  of  the  child. 

' '  Let  me  see !  "  said  Aunt  Jennie,  squinting  up  one  eye, 
and  trying  to  look  wise.  "I  think  it  was  the  25th;  yes, 
I'm  sho'  uv  it,  for  I  'member  she  wrote  a  letter  dat  same 
mornin'  an'  sont  me  to  de  offis  to  'quire  de  day  uv  de 
muni,  an'  dey  tole  me  it  wuz  de  twenty-fit." 

"  Did  you  take  the  letter  to  mail  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,  ma'am,  she  mailed  it  hersef,  I  s'pose. " 

"  You  did  not  see  the  directions,  then?" 

"  No,  no,  honey ;  for  I'se  one  o'  dem  kind  o'  people  who 
nebber  tends  to  udder  people's  bizness,  and  dat  is  why  I 
nebber  gits  in  trouble  ;  an'  when  the  judgment  day  comes, 
an'  de  dry  bones  rises,  no  nigger  can  stan'  up  an'  bring  dat 
sin  aginst  ole  Jinny.  But  I  'spec  you  are  sleepy,  so  I  will 
go  an'  bring  yo'  water  and  let  you  go  to  bed,  po'  chile,  fur 
you  looks  tired." 

Aunt  Jennie  pretty  soon  returned  with  a  pitcher  of  ice 
water  and  placed  it  upon  the  table,  saying,  as  she  left  the 
room,  "I  hope  you  won't  hab  enny  mo'  uv  dem  bad 
dreams." 

"  I  hope  so,  too,  Aunt  Jennie,"  said  I,  as  I  closed  the 
door. 
4 


5O  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

After  looking  under  the  bed,  in  the  wardrobe,  behind 
the  washstand  (which  every  woman  knows  is  a  custom 
peculiar  to  her  sex),  I  made  preparations  for  retiring.  I 
took  off  my  watch  and  wound  it,  and  was  about  to  lay  it 
in  the  drawer  when  my  eyes  fell  upon  an  envelope  sealed, 
directed,  and  stamped.  My  first  impression  was  that  the 
letter  had  been  written  by  some  stranger,  and  that  he  had 
gone  off  and  forgotten  to  mail  it,  as  it  was  already  stamped, 
so  I  laid  it  back  in  the  drawer  with  the  intention  of  drop- 
ping it  in  the  office  the  next  morning,  thinking  it  would 
be  an  accommodation  to  the  writer,  whoever  he  might  be. 
Perhaps  it  was  a  letter  of  importance.  I  looked  at  the 
directions  upon  the  back  which  read  as  follows : 
"Mr.  H.  S.  Q., 

"  Cincinnati, 

Ohio." 

Nothing  but  the  initials  were  given.  I  retired,  how- 
ever, but  the  goddess  of  sleep  refused  to  seal  my  eyelids 
with  her  blessed  dews,  and  I  arose  and  opened  my  port- 
manteau and  took  out  my  writing  implements  with  the 
intention  of  answering  a  letter  that  had  long  been  delayed, 
but  my  brain  was  not  a  vassal  to  my  will,  and  would  not 
obey  its  mandates,  and  with  disgust  I  laid  down  my  pen 
and  picked  up  a  cook-book  that  had  been  accidentally  left 
in  the  room,  and  which  acted  like  a  charm  upon  my  sleep- 
ing faculties;  for  in  the  midst  of  chicken-salad,  sponge 
cakes,  and  mince  pies  I  passed  through  the  mystic  gate 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  51 

and  was  soon  wandering  in  flowery  meads  and  pastures 
green.  I  had  not  enjoyed  this  blessed  elysium  a  great 
while  when  my  spirit  was  driven  from  this  enchanted  land 
by  an  intruder  whose  abode  must  have  been  the  infernal 
regions.  He  was  bending  over  me  with  his  glittering 
snake-eyes,  staring  down  upon  me  like  a  streak  of  fire,  and 
I  felt  his  long,  bony  fingers  grasping  me  around  the  throat. 
I  tried  to  scream,  but  could  not.  I  tried  to  pray,  but  my 
tongue  cleaved  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth.  "The  letter,  or 
your  life!"  he  growled,  as  his  skinny  fingers  tightened 
around  my  throat. 

"What  letter?"  I  asked,  as  he  slackened  his  grasp. 

"The  letter  you  found  in  the  drawer,"  he  exclaimed; 
"  for  that  letter  contains  a  secret  which,  if  found  out,  would 
carry  me  to  the  gallows." 

"You  shall  have  it  with  all  my  heart,"  I  cried,  "if  you 
will  only  let  me  go." 

He  loosened  the  grasp  around  my  throat,  and  I  arose 
and  groped  my  way  in  the  dark  until  I  reached  the  bureau, 
expecting  every  minute  to  be  the  last.  With  eager  hands 
I  pulled  open  the  drawer ;  but  to  my  horror  the  letter  was 
not  there.  What  was  I  to  do?  I  knew  he  would  not 
believe  me  if  I  told  him  that  I  could  not  find  it ;  and  unless 
I  did,  I  had  but  a  slim  chance  for  my  life.  I  stood  for 
some  moments  trembling  from  head  to  foot,  and  my  tem- 
ples were  made  tributary  by  the  perspiration  that  flowed 
from  every  pore. 


52  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

"  I  have  but  a  few  minutes  to  wait,"  he  growled,  "and 
you  may  depend  upon  it,  that  it  is  either  the  letter  or  your 
life." 

"I  can  not  find  it,"  said  I,  trembling  with  terror,  and 
crouching  down  by  the  bureau  and  shutting  my  eyes  in 
order  to  meet  my  fate  which  I  knew  was  close  at  hand. 
Now  and  then  a  blaze  of  lightning  would  reveal  its  hide- 
ous form  as  he  approached  me.  If  I  could  only  halloo, 
some  one  in  this  great  hotel  would  hear  me  and  come  to 
my  aid ;  but  to  die  alone  in  the  dark  by  the  bloody  hands 
of  an  assassin,  when  surrounded  by  good  people  on  every 
side,  was  worse  than  death  itself.  But  there  is  an  end  to 
all  things,  and  there  was  one  to  this.  So  exhausted  was  I 
there  was  but  precious  little  strength  left  for  me  to  make  a 
noise;  but  finally  I  succeeded,  and  gave  a  yell  loud  enough 
to  awaken  the  seven  sleepers,  and  which  brought  me  to  my 
senses.  When  I  awoke  I  found  myself  crouched  in  one 
corner  of  the  room  rubbing  my  head,  which  I  had  nearly 
pulverized  against  the  bureau.  But  no  Aunt  Jennie  came 
this  time  to  chase  away  the  disagreeable  feelings  that 
always  succeed  one  of  these  unpleasant  mystic  revelries ; 
but  the  most  profound  happiness  stole  over  my  much  ex- 
hausted spirit  when  I  awoke  and  found  it  but  a  dream. 

Dreams  are  but  eddies  in  the  current  of  the  mind,  which, 
cut  off  from  reflection's  gentle  stream,  sometimes  play 
strange  fantastic  tricks.  Some  of  the  happiest  moments 
of  my  life  have  been  spent  within  this  mystic  gate,  walking 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  53 

the  shady  avenues  of  dreamland's  shadowy  land,  and  some- 
times transported  beyond  the  shores  of  time,  and  hold 
sweet  communion  with  the  dear  ones  who  have  long  since 
trod  the  journey  of  life  and  taken  up  their  abode  with  the 
blessed. 

'  Tis  sad  to  awake  from  pleasant  dreams, 

Into  a  world  of  pain. 
O,  let  my  spirit  wander  back 

To  that  peaceful  land  again. 

My  heart  is  sad,  my  eyes  are  dim, 

And  tears  are  falling  while  I  write, 
The  friends  I  loved  are  cold  in  death, 

And  I  am  sad  to-night. 

I  am  lonely,  sadly  lonely, 

While  the  memories  thick  and  fast, 
Shadowy-like,  they  cling  around  me 

Telling  stories  of  the  past. 

I  am  weary,  I  am  weary, 

While  my  feeble  fingers  show 
Long-forgotten  thoughts  and  feelings 

Of  the  faded  long  ago. 

Eager  my  fainting  spirit  waits, 

Rest  from  toil  and  pain  to  win, 
Open  to  me  the  dreamland's  gate, 

And  let  the  weary  soul  pass  in. 

To  the  weary  pity  show, 

Wrho  seek  for  rest  but  find  despair; 


54  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

Lift  up  your  head,  ye  magic  gate, 
And  let  the  weary  soul  pass  there. 

In  this  mystic,  shadowy  land, 

Let  my  weary  spirit  roam  ; 
For  oft  in  this  enchanted  land 

I  catch  a  glimpse  of  childhood's  home. 

Although  it  is  in  ruins  laid, 

Its  fairest  blossoms  now  are  dead, 

Yet  still  their  deep  and  solemn  shade 
Upon  the  waving  grass  is  shed. 

And  often  there  in  dreams  I  pluck 

Flowers  bright  and  gay  ; 
And  often  there  my  spirit  dwells 

When  my  frame  is  far  away. 

My  Father  and  I  sweet  communion  hold, 
Though  the  dark  rolling  river  between  us  roll, 
There  I  receive  a  mother's  kiss 
While  passing  through  this  gate  of  bliss. 

There  my  mother  fondly  gazes 
Upon  me  as  in  childhood's  days ; 

There  my  schoolmates  crowd  around  me 
With  their  long-forgotten  plays. 

The  multiflora  vine  in  the  corner, 
Which  embraced  the  sycamore  tree ; 

The  rose  that  blushed  in  the  corner, 
Are  all  familiar  to  me. 

As  o'er  this  mystic  land  I  tread, 

The  dear  old  orchard  again  I  greet ; 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  55 

No  apples,  sure,  were  ever  so  red, 
Or  tasted  half  so  sweet. 

Then  open  to  me,  ye  dreamland's  gate, 

On  shadowy  wings  let  me  fly, 
To  my  dear  native  home,  where  I  long  to  roam, 

As  I  did  in  the  days  gone  by. 

I  turned  on  the  gas"  in  order  to  dispel  some  of  the 
gloom  which  seemed  to  pervade  my  chamber,  and  walked 
to  the  window7  and  looked  out  upon  the  streets  which  were 
almost  deserted ;  for  there  was  a  battle  in  the  clouds. 
The  king  of  terror  had  waged  war  with  the  fair  queen  of 
night,  and  she  had  retreated  with  her  shining  host  leaving 
the  world  in  utter  darkness,  while  grape  and  canister 
were  pelting  down  from  the  dark,  angry  clouds  as  they 
marshaled  themselves  for  battle.  The  thunders  pealed, 
and  the  lightning  was  as  one  blinding  sheet  of  flame.  The 
wind  was  blowing  furiously,  hurrying  through  the  streets 
moaning  and  sobbing  mournfully,  as  if  spirits  of  evil  were 
disturbing  its  boisterous  retreat.  Now  shrieking  as  if  in 
mad  despair,  dashing  the  rain  in  slanting  lines  against  the 
window-panes  and  threatening  with  utter  destruction  the ' 
gilded  signs  in  front  of  the  stores,  which  creaked  dismally 
as  it  swept  by  them.  I  stood  for  some  moments  gazing 
upon  the  scene,  and  for  a  time  forgot  my  unpleasant  dream 
until  I  heard  a  heavy,  slow  footstep  on  the  pavement 
below,  and  looked  down  just  as  a  man  passed  and  looked 
up  at  my  window.  I  sprang  back  behind  the  curtain  as  a 


56  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

frightened  bird  would  have  crouched  from  the  eyes  of  a 
hawk.  It  was  the  counterpart  of  the  man  that  I  had  seen 
in  my  dreams,  and  which  reminded  me  of  the  letter  in  the 
drawer. 

Thinks  I  to  myself,  if  I  have  never  had  any  curiosity 
to  break  the  seal  of  that  letter  I  certainly  have  now,  and 
will  devolve  that  indispensable  duty  upon  myself,  for  there 
is  some  mystery  about  it.  Then  the  words  of  my  unwel- 
come visitor  seemed  to  repeat  themselves  in  my  ears: 
"That  letter  contains  a  secret  which,  if  found  out,  would 
send  me  to  the  gallows."  After  fully  deciding  the  ques- 
tion in  my  mind  whether  or  not  I  should  open  the  mysteri- 
ous letter,  I  walked  deliberately  to  the  bureau  to  carry  my 
thoughts  into  execution,  for  the  transparent  waters  of  my 
soul  were  stirred  and  troubled  never  again  to  know  their 
perfect  peace  until  I  was  in  possession  of  the  contents  of 
that  letter.  I  opened  the  drawer  and  there  it  lay  all  un- 
conscious of  what  I  had  suffered  for  its  sake,  and  I  felt 
that  I,  through  tribulation,  had  purchased  the  right  and 
privilege  to  question  its  secrecy.  So,  with  this  conviction, 
I  tore  open  the  letter  with  a  conscience  as  clear  as  the  paper 
on  which  I  write.  I  seated  myself  in  the  rocking-chair 
and  laid  my  hand  upon  my  heart  to  keep  it  in  its  right 
place,  for  it  felt  very  much  like  it  was  dancing  the  german 
after  its  own  music.  My  eyes  ran  over  the  letter  with  an 
eagerness  that  any  of  my  readers  would  have  felt  under  the 
circumstances ;  but  to  my  disgust  I  could  not  read  one 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  57 

word  of  it,  and  I  had  to  lay  it  away  unread ;  but  my  dis- 
appointment was  beyond  description.  It  was  written  in 
Spanish,  and  badly  written,  too.  Again  I  sought  my 
couch,  and  tried  to  banish  the  letter  from  my  mind  by 
reflecting  that  perhaps  my  train  of  thought  before  sleeping 
had  been  such  as  to  induce  the  dream.  So,  while  under 
this  reflection,  the  blessed  angel  of  sleep  spread  her  peace- 
ful wings  over  my  thorny  pillow,  and  I  sank  into  oblivion, 
and  this  time  I  slept  soundly.  No  glittering-eyed  monster 
stared  down  on  me,  and  I  could  not  feel  any  long  fingers 
choking  the  breath  out  of  my  boc'y.  I  was  wandering  in 
a  beautiful  sunbeam  meadow,  hedged  with  flowers  of  every 
hue,  while  birds  of  fairest  plumage  sang  their  ministerial 
songs,  and  golden-winged  butterflies  danced  to  the  music 
of  bumble-bees,  and  played  hide-and-seek  with  fairies 
around  glimmering  violets  and  smiling  blue-bells. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    LETTER   TRANSLATED. 

The  next  morning  I  awoke  with  nerves  somewhat 
unstrung  and  a  severe  pain  in  my  head,  caused  by  my 
midnight  rehearsal,  and  for  the  want  of  that  perfect  sleep 
and  composure  which  nature  requires  of  her  children,  and 
who  will  surely  suffer  if  they  deviate  from  her  stringent 
laws  and  government. 

Well,  the  battle  was  over,  and  Phoebus,  clothed  in 
majesty  sublime,  arose  in  all  his  splendor  and  smiled  like 
a  conquering  king,  and  caused  everything  else  to  smile, 
whether  it  wanted  to  or  not.  No  traces  of  the  aerial  bat- 
tle were  left  except  a  few  broken  branches  and  a  cranky- 
old  sign-post  that  had  to  lay  its  gilded  head  against  a  tree 
for  support ;  though  it,  too,  seemed  to  smile  as  it  caught 
up  the  rays  of  the  sun  and  flashed  back  the  light,  and  the 
gilded  letters  stood  out  boldly  to  be  read  by  the  passers- 
by —  "Cash  Store."  I  had  gazed  upon  that  sign-board  the 
day  previous  with  little  interest;  in  fact,  with  no  interest  at 
all.  It  was  simply  a  sign-board,  and  nothing  more ;  but 
this  morning  I  felt  as  if  I  could  go  up  to  it  and  shake 
hands  with  it  on  the  spot.  There  were  only  two  words, 

(58) 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  59 

but  they  had  a  deep  meaning,  and  the  letters  seemed 
more  indelible.  I  read  it  over  and  over  again.  That  is 
very  simple,  said  I  to  myself;  yet  it  means  a  great  deal. 
I  suppose  it  means  "no  trust,"  which  may  be  regarded  as 
equivalent  to  not  to  be  trusted.  We  infer  that  although 
it  may  not  be  complimentary  to  the  man's  customers,  it 
indicates  that  he  is  doing  business  on  a  safe  plan. 

What  if  every  untrustworthy  person  should  be  labeled 
with  the  words  "not  to  be  trusted,"  just  as  we  see  the 
sign  "  No  trust"  on  sign-boards  or  behind  counters.  And 
suppose  every  untrustworthy  thing  about  us  were  to  be 
thus  labeled  in  conspicuous  letters,  how  many  surprises 
we  would  have.  No  one  can  distinguish  with  the  naked 
eye  the  electrotype  article  from  the  solid  gold,  and  in 
Paris  every  jeweler  is  obliged  by  law  to  placard  his  goods 
according  to  their  intrinsic  value.  What  a  relief  it  would 
be  if  some  such  statute  could  be  made  universal. 

Here  is  a  ship  equipped  for  sea;  everything  looks  well 
about  it;  she  is  freshly  painted  and  newly  furnished;  the 
cabin  is  exquisitely  adorned,  the  colors  that  stream  from 
the  mast-head  are  bright  and  fair,  but  if  we  could  see  just 
above  the  water-mark  the  phosphoric' words  gleaming  out, 
"Not  to  be  trusted,"  warning  us  that  the  timbers  are 
unsound,  or  the  engine  imperfect,  or  that  the  vessel  is  not 
properly  manned,  the  captain  incompetent,  or  the  crew 
rebellious,  we  should  be  very  thankful  for  the  caution. 

Here  is  a  man  about  to  cross  a  bridge,  driving  a  heavy 


6O  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

team.  To  all  appearances  it  is  a  well-built  structure.  It  has 
borne  the  weight  of  many  heavy  loads  in  days  gone  by. 
It  has  securely  resisted  the  most  terrible  freshets  and  ice 
packs.  It  still  seems  to  be  in  sufficiently  good  repair,  but 
it  is,  in  fact,  worn  out  and  unsafe,  and  there  are  inspectors 
who  know,  or  ought  to  know,  that  it  is  so ;  and  until  it  is 
rebuilt  they  should  have  out  a  sign  "Not  to  be  trusted." 
Neglecting  to  do  this,  the  next  thing  we  hear  is  that  the 
bridge  has  gone  down,  and  man  and  beast  have  gone 
down  with  it,  crushed  to  death.  And  turning  from  the 
works  of  man  to  man  himself,  ought  not  many  among  our 
own  species  to  be  labeled  with  the  words  ' '  Not  to  be 
trusted?"  The  inmates  of  our  prisons,  as  might  be  ex- 
pected, wear  some  such  badge.  Their  dress  and  manner 
and  countenance  betray  them.  But  in  other  quarters 
there  are  those  who  deserve  to  be  thus  branded  who  do 
not  bear  about  them  any  visible  mark  of  reproach. 

There  comes  among  us  a  great  philanthropist  and  re- 
former who  has  devoted  his  life  to  the  service  of  human- 
ity. Whatever  the  cause  may  be  which  he  has  happened 
to  take  in  hand,  he  represents  it  as  the  greatest  of  all  causes 
— the  one  thing  which  is  needful  to  do  in  order  to  save 
the  world.  He  has  sacrificed  everything  that  he  might  put 
himself  at  the  head  of  this  mighty  movement,  and  all  that 
he  asks  in  return  is  a  liberal  supply  of  money  to  support 
him,  and  your  suffrage  to  give  him  position.  Look  care- 
fully just  under  the  skin  and  you  may  read  the  words, 
"Not  to  be  trusted." 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  6 1 

As  these  illustrations  presented  themselves  to  my  mind, 
I  was  impressed  with  the  idea  that  if  Dr.  St.  George  had 
been  blessed  with  one  of  these  unsophisticated  sign -boards 
in  front  of  his  chamber  window,  and  had  studied  its  silent 
language  as  diligently  as  I  had  that  morning,  he  would 
have  been  more  careful  in  selecting  a  nurse  for  his  baby. 

After  taking  un  taya  de  cafe  I  went  down  to  the  parlor 
and  rang  for  the  porter,  who  came  in  smiling  and  bowing. 
"Order  me  a  carriage,"  said  I,  "and  bring  down  my 
wraps."  The  thunder  shower  had  certainly  had  a  most 
beneficial  effect  upon  the  weather,  and  the  morning  was 
cool  and  sharp. 

"The  carriage  is  waiting  at  the  ladies'  entrance,"  said 
the  porter  as  he  came  in  with  my  hat  and  wraps. 

"Take  me  to  Dr.  St.  George's  residence,"  said  I  to  the 
driver  as  I  entered  the  carriage,  and  it  was  not  long  before 
the  carnage  rolled  up  before  the  beautiful  grass  plot  in 
front  of  his  handsome  dwelling.  I  alighted  from  the  car- 
riage and  walked  up  the  flight  of  marble  steps  and  rang 
the  door  bell,  which  was  answered  by  an  old  colored 
woman.  I  handed  her  my  card,  saying,  "Tell  the  doctor 
that  I  wish  to  see  him  on  important  business." 

The  servant  soon  returned,  saying  that  Dr.  St.  George 
would  be  in  in  a  few  minutes,  and  drew  up  an  easy  chair 
to  the  fire  and  bade  me  to  be  seated.  The  parlor  was 
exquisitely  furnished.  The  carpet,  which  was  of  crimson 
velvet,  was  like  fairy  moss  beneath  one's  feet,  and  gave  no 


62  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

sound  as  the  foot  fell  upon  it.  The  chandelier  \\  as  of 
frosted  gold.  A  cheery  fire  sparkled  behind  the  heavy 
silver  bars  of  the  polished  grate  and  cast  a  rosy  glow  over 
the  rich  and  dainty  adornments  of  the  room.  Profound 
silence  prevailed  through  the  great  house.  The  occasional 
dropping  of  the  coal  in  the  grate,  and  the  tick,  tick  of  the 
French  clock  upon  the  mantel  alone  broke  the  silence. 
Presently  the  door  opened  softly,  and  Dr.  St.  George 
entered,  looking  pale  and  haggard.  "I  am  happy  to  see 
you,  Miss  Ainsly,"  said  he,  giving  me  a  hearty  shake  of 
the  hand,  "and  I  am  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting  so 
long." 

"Please  do  not  offer  an  apology,"  I  replied;  "those 
handsome  paintings  have  well  entertained  me.  I  think 
they  are  exquisite." 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  quietly,  "and  I  appreciate  them 
because  they  were  painted  by  my  wife.  That  one,"  he 
continued,  turning  to  a  beautiful  portrait,  "is  my  wife.  I 
had  it  painted  for  her  while  we  were  in  Italy." 

"It  is  the  most  exquisite  painting  I  ever  saw ;  it  is 
beautiful  ;  I  have  never  seen  such  a  face  or  form,"  I 
replied. 

"And  she  was  as  good  and  noble  as  she  was  beautiful," 
was  his  earnest  reply.  And  then  he  arose  and  opened 
the  folding  doors  and  said,  "This  was  her  room,  Miss 
Ainsly,"  and  going  up  to  a  dainty  little  crib,  he  laid  a 
trembling  hand  upon  it,  and  said,  "This  was  our  darling's 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAMK.  63 

little  crib,  and  it  is  just  as  she  left  it;  "  and  the  scalding- 
tears  trickled  down  his  cheeks  and  dropped  on  his  white 
bosom. 

The  room  was  lovely  indeed,  with  its  delicately-tinted 
walls,  and  beautiful  lace  curtains  trailing  like  bridal-veils 
upon  the  rich  carpet  of  bronze  and  gold.  In  one  corner  of 
the  room  sat  the  baby-crib,  with  a  dainty  little  pillow  all 
trimmed  with  snowy  lace ;  and  only  a  few  short  hours 
before  the  baby  had  lain  with  its  little  head  upon  that  pil- 
low looking  up  into  its  mother's  face  cooing  and  laughing, 
and  that  mother  bending  over  her  darling  with  a  feeling, 
unknown  save  only  to  herself  and  Maker,  to  whom  she 
committed  it;'  and  little  did  that  mother  know  that  before 
forty-eight  hours  her  darling,  her  idol,  would  be  cradled 
in  an  eagle's  nest.  Its  golden  curls  dyed  with  the  blood  of 
the  eagle's  prey.  Its  little  fingers  trembling  and  quivering 
'mid  eagle's  feathers,  as  the  gentle  wind  swayed  the  bough 
that  held  its  blood-stained  bed ;  while  its  destroyer  was 
perched  but  a  short  distance  whetting  his  bill  ready  to  tear 
it  in  pieces  at  the  awakening  of  her  young  ones  should  they 
cry  for  food.  O !  how  good  of  the  wise  One  above  to 
fling  destiny's  veil  over  the  flight  of  our  years.  And  could 
I  but  tear  one  single  leaf  from  memory's  gilded  pages,  the 
memories  of  that  day  I  would  bury  in  oblivion,  for  they 
crowd  thick  and  fast  upon  my  brain,  and  compel  me  to 
lay  down  my  pen  to  dry  the  tears  that  so  often  dim  my 
eyes.  And  should  there  be  traced  upon  these  pages  one 


64  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

single  tear,  go  with  me,  kind  reader,  and  walk  side  by 
side  with  those  whose  lives  I  am  about  to  relate,  and  you 
will  pardon  my  weakness,  if  such  it  be,  for  now  and  then 
I  find  a  tear-drop  trembling  upon  my  lids,  from  which 
bright  beams  of  silver  are  dancing  to  the  dying  embers  in 
the  grate.  But  I  am  wandering  from  my  subject. 

"Dr.  St.  George,"  said  I,  stopping  suddenly  and  con- 
fronting him,  "I  am  ashamed  to  tell  you  my  business 
now  that  I  have  come ;  I  fear  you  will  think  that  I  am 
weak  and  superstitious." 

"Do  not  be  afraid  or  ashamed  to  tell  me  anything," 
said  he,  kindly,  "and  remember  that  I  am  always  your 
friend,  and  at  all  times  ready  and  happy  to  do  anything 
for  you  that  lies  in  my  power.  Now,  what  can  I  do  for 
you,  MissAinsly?" 

"I  would  like  for  you  to  relieve  me  of  my  suspense," 
said  I,  drawing  out  the  letter. 

"What  have  you?"  said  he,  reaching  out  his  hand. 

I  put  the  letter  in  his  hands,  and  said,  "There  is  a 
letter  that  I  would  like  you  to  read ;  I  think  it  is  in  the 
Spanish  language.  Do  you  speak  Spanish  ?  I  think  I  heard 
you  speak  of  your  travels  through  Spain,  or  of  being  in 
Spain." 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  I  was  two  years  there,  and  the  Span- 
ish language  is  my  favorite  study." 

' '  I  am  glad  to  be  so  fortunate, "  I  said,  for  I  am  more 
than  anxious  to  know  the  contents  of  that  letter ;  and 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  6$ 

before  you  proceed  let  me  give  you  an  explanation,  and 
perhaps  you  will  pardon  my  superstition." 

He  listened  very  attentively  as  I  related  to  him  my 
dream,  and  when  I  was  through  he  said,  "It  is  a  very 
strange  dream,  Miss  Ainsly,  and  that  reminds  me  of  my 
own." 

' '  And  you  have  been  dreaming,  too  ?  "  said  I,  smilingly. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  I  thought  you  called  to  see  me  and 
gave  me  a  letter  to  read,  but  before  I  read  it  I  awoke, 
and  never  had  the  pleasure  of  reading  it ;  so  I  see  my 
dream  is  fulfilled." 

"  Well !  \Yell !  "  said  I,  drawing  a  long  breath.  "  I  am 
rather  inclined  to  believe  that  while  we  are  asleep,  our 
spirits  desert  the  body,  and  traverse  the  unknown  paths  of 
the  future,  and  rehearse  what  our  bodies  will  perform  while 
awake. " 

"Something  like  a  newspaper  reporter,"  said  he,  try- 
ing to  force  a  smile;  "going  around  gathering  up  facts; 
and  sometimes  the  spirit  is  like  the  reporter,  it  gathers  a 
great  deal  that  is  not  fact." 

He  opened  the  letter  and  began  to  read  to  himself.  I 
watched  his  countenance  as  he  read,  and  could  tell  by  the 
coming  and  going  of  the  blood  in  his  face  and  temples  that 
the  contents  interested  him  beyond  a  doubt. 

"You  must  excuse  me  for  reading  it  to  myself  first," 
said  he,  "  as  I  do  not  know  the  language  perfectly,  and  I 
did  not  wish  to  make  a  blunder  ;  but  must  say,  that  your 
5 


66  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

superstition  is  well  founded,  for  this  is  certainly  a  myste- 
rious letter,  and  I  join  you  in  the  belief  that  this  letter  was 
written  by  the  abductor  of  my  child  ;  and  it  is  in  a  man's 
handwriting.  I  will  now  translate  it  to  you  in  English." 

"  I  will  be  in  possession  of  the  object  we  are  in  pursuit  of  in  forty- 
eight  hours.  Meet  me  at  the  foot  of  Sugar  Loaf  mountain,  on  the 
morning  of  the  27th,  at  six  o'clock  ;  and  do  not  fail  to  bring  with  you 
the  $1,000  you  promised  me  should  I  be  successful,  as  I  shall  not  return 
to  the  city  again,  for  this  country  will  be  too  small  to  hold  me  after  this ; 
and  if  you  fail  to  bring  the  money,  I  am  thinking  it  will  be  too  warm 

for  yourself,  as  I  shall  return  the to  its and  expose  all.     You  know 

what  I  mean. 

"I.  N." 


CHAPTER  V. 

I  CAN  NOT  BURY  MY  FATHER  IN  THE  POTTER'S  FIELD;  OR  THE 
DOOM  OF  A  DRUNKARD'S  WIFE. 

Kind  and  gentle  reader,  permit  me  to  accompany  you 

to  the  city  of  L ,  where  the  scene  of  our  story  is  laid, 

though  it  will  not  be  a  pleasure  trip  ;  neither  can  I  prom- 
ise to  take  you  through  the  fashionable  streets  and  ave- 
nues of  this  beautiful  and  delightful  city,  for  fear  they  will 
contrast  too  widely  with  dark,  black  alleys,  where  I  will 
have  to  conduct  you  for  the  purpose  of  introducing  you  to 
the  hero  of  our  narrative.  We  will  now  go  down  a  narrow 
alley,  and  thence  up  a  five-story  tenement  house.  It  may 
be  laborious,  as  well  as  sickening  to  your  sight,  to  climb 
those  dingy,  creaking  flights  of  stairs,  with  the  snow  and 
ice  beating  into  your  face  as  you  ascend,  and  the  wind 
whistling  and  whirling  over  the  roof  and  shaking  the  crazy 
old  structure  to  its  foundation.  And,  perhaps,  when  you 
get  to  the  fifth  landing  and  stand  upon  a  narrow  platform, 
and  peep  down  with  a  dizzy  brain  into  the  impenetrable 
darkness,  you  will  become  disgusted  with  your  journey 
and  involuntarily  retrace  your  steps  downward.  But  I 
trust,  kind  reader,  that  you  will  not  close  your  eyes  to  the 

(67) 


68  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

scene,  though  silent  desolation,  starvation,  gaunt,  pinched, 
and  spectral,  stalks  before  you  and  mingles  a  footfall  \\ith 
your  panting  breath. 

Go  on,  and  as  you  ascend,  step  by  step,  utter  a  prayer 
that  your  aversion  might  be  changed  to  pity  and  compas- 
sion for  the  once  bright,  but  now  fallen,  star  that  lies 
therein ;  and  that  charity  may  be  the  ruling  passion  in 
your  heart.  When  you  reach  the  third  story,  turn  a  little 
to  your  left  and  you  will  enter  a  room,  dark,  cold,  and 
dreary,  where  poverty  and  want  grin  in  their  ghastly  lone- 
liness and  solitude.  The  silence  of  desolation  brooding 
over  all,  and  the  faint  lamp-light  flickering  to  its  wane,  is 
like  the  beam  which  creeps  up  from  the  exhalations  of  the 
grave.  As  you  look  with  awe  and  wonder  upon  the  beast 
that  was  once  a  brave  and  noble  man,  you  will  drop  a  tear 
of  pity  for  the  pale  and  haggard  form  of  her  whom  he  had 
sworn  to  love,  honor,  and  protect  and  had  dragged 
down  from  the  pinnacle  of  hope,  love,  and  confidence,  to 
the  lowest  depths  of  despair.  She  had  often  climbed 
those  rickety  stairs  to  carry  the  food  and  fuel  which  she 
had  earned  with  her  needle  by  a  dim-burning  lamp  to  keep 
her  little  ones  from  starving  and  freezing  as  they  huddled 
around  her  with  pinched  cheeks  and  purple  hands  crying 
for  bread,  while  the  one  who  had  sworn  before  his  God  to 
cherish  and  protect  her  was  lying  in  the  gutters,  his 
breath  polluted  with  the  smell  of  whisky,  with  blood-shot 
eyes  and  bloated  face,  though  he  was  once  a  high-minded 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  69 

and  honored  man,  a  kind  and  affectionate  husband,  and  de- 
voted father. 

Go  with  me,  reader,  and  behold  the  pale  cheeks  and 
scalding  tears  of  that  crushed  wife  and  mother,  and  they 
will  attest  the  truth  of  what  I  write ;  eloquent  it  may  not 
be,  but  perhaps  it  will  be  a  warning  to  whoever  may  read 
these  lines  to  shun  a  course  which  had  so  trodden  as 
proud  a  spirit  and  aspiring  ambition  as  ever  throbbed  in 
the  breast  of  man. 

The  oft-repeated  assertion  that  the  sword  has  slain  its 
thousands,  and  liquor  its  tens  of  thousands,  is  a  truth  that 
the  world  can  not  deny.  It  is  the  greatest  evil  that  has 
ever  been  felt  among  the  sons  of  men.  Temperance 
lecturers  have  gone  throughout  the  land  lifting  up  their 
voices  in  warning  to  stop  the  growing  evil.  Success  seems 
to  crown  their  efforts  for  awhile,  and  again  it  breaks  out 
with  increasing  violence,  filling  bright  homes  and  happy 
hearts  with  sadness,  gloom,  and  desolation.  The  young 
man  fails  to  perceive  the  dangers  when  he  sips  the  poison 
and  is  led  on,  step  by  step,  until  the  fatal  spell  is  thrown 
around  him,  and  sinks  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  vortex 
of  wretchedness  and  misery,  until  the  last  lamp  which 
sheds  its  brightness  upon  his  path  is  extinguished,  the 
star  of  hope  sinks  in  darkness,  and  the  moderate,  fashion- 
able drinker  has  become  the  reeling,  bloated,  degraded 
drunkard,  and  the  once  happy  youth,  the  delight  of  his 
mother  and  the  pride  of  his  father,  is  a  wanderer 


7O  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

from  his  paradisaical  home,  to  rough  a  devious  and  dark 
pilgrimage  to  a  dishonored  grave,  the  home  idol  shattered 
and  broken,  the  altar  cast  down,  and  Eden  transformed 
into  a  hell,  childhood  and  innocence  thrust  out  from  the 
love-light  of  a  mother's  eye,  to  wallow  in  all  that  is  low 
and  vile.  Tragedies  more  fearfully  dark  and  hideous  than 
Avon's  bard  ever  sketched  are  thickly  traced  on  the 
record  of  rum's  history;  scenes  which  would  mock  the 
artist's  pen  are  of  daily  occurrence ;  the  desolate  home, 
with  its  heart-broken  wife  and  mother,  with  pale  cheeks, 
channeled  with  tears  of  unutterable  woe,  as  she  bends 
weeping  over  the  drunken  wreck  of  her  youthful  idol,  and 
the  child-group,  shivering  in  the  blast,  clinging  to  that 
mother  as  they  cry  for  bread;  the  orphans  turned  out, 
with  no  friend  but  God,  into  the  wide  world ;  youth, 
wrecked  manhood,  reeling  amid  the  ruins  of  mind  and 
morals;  beauty,  the  sepulcher  of  a  thousand  hopes; 
genius  crumbling  to  ruin ;  the  virtuous  and  noble-minded, 
turning  away  from  truth  and  honor,  plunging  into  foul 
and  festering  vice,  with  sickly  and  bloated  features ;  mad- 
ness, with  fiery  eyes  and  haggard  mien,  weeping  and  wail- 
ing and  cursing  in  rayless  night  of  intellectual  chaos; 
crime,  with  its  infernal  ha !  ha !  as  it  staggers  forth  from 
its  work  of  death,  with  its  red  hands  dripping  with  the 
hot  and  smoking  life-tide  of  its  victim.  Where  fiction 
even  has  called  up  its  weird  creation,  they  have  been  but 
copies  of  the  facts  already  transpired.  The  moral  is 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  "]  \ 

always  there.  The  hovels,  the  dram-shops,  the  subter- 
ranean dens,  and  the  mansions  of  fashion  and  wealth  have 
all  furnished  the  material  for  tales  of  startling  interest. 

We  will  now  return  to  our  narrative,  and  trust,  kind 
reader,  that  we  have  not  wearied  your  patience. 

Methinks  I  left  you  standing  upon  the  fifth  landing  of 

a  tenement  house  in  one  of  the  back  streets  in  L It 

is  a  long  time  to  wait  in  such  a  place,  but,  however,  we 
will  enter  now.  Do  not  knock  for  admittance,  but  turn 
the  door-knob  cautiously  and  step  lightly,  for  an  old  man 
is  wrestling  with  death.  Delirium  is  upon  him,  and  he 
raves,  in  his  madness,  of  a  strange  name  who  first  held  the 
tempting  glass  to  his  lips,  and  first  led  his  tottering  feet  to 
the  gambling  den,  and  there  robbed  him  of  all  he  had 
labored  so  hard  to  obtain,  leaving  his  wife  and  helpless 
children  to  suffer. 

A  woman  is  standing  by  his  couch  in  a  listening  atti- 
tude, but,  O  God!  how  thin  and  haggard!  She  takes  her 
seat  mechanically  upon  a  goods  box  by  the  side  of  his 
couch.  How  fearfully  tearless  and  calm  she  seems  to  be ! 
Every  feature  the  foot-print  of  unutterable  agony!  Her 
eyes  are  sunken  and  inflamed,  but  are  as  tearless  as  her 
cheeks  and  lips  are  bloodless.  Save  a  startling  wildness 
about  the  eye,  it  would  not  seem  that  those  features  had 
ever  been  stirred  by  a  human  passion.  She  hears  a  cau- 
tious footstep,  and  as  she  turns  her  head  to  look,  two  arms 
are  wound  around  her  neck  in  a  loving  embrace;  the  faint- 


72  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

«st  flush  passes  over  her  cheek  as  she  looks  up  and  beholds 
her  boy. 

"  You  stayed  away  so  late  to-night,  darling,"  said  she, 
imprinting  a  kiss  upon  his  cheeks. 

"  I  could  not  help  it,  mother,"  he  replied,  bending  low 
and  looking  in  her  tired  eyes.  "  I  had  to  wait  so  long  be- 
fore I  could  get  my  money,  and  then  I  came  by  the  store 
to  get  you  some  tea.  I  heard  you  say  this  morning  that 
you  would  be  glad  to  have  a  little,"  and  he  laid  a  little 
package  of  tea  and  another  of  white  sugar  in  her  lap. 

She  looked  up  with  a  glad  light  in  her  eyes,  and  whis- 
pered, "  God  bless  you,  my  boy ;  what  I  would  do  without 
you  heaven  only  knows.  You  are  the  only  comfort  your 
poor  mother  has  in  this  life." 

' '  Is  father  no  better,  mamma  ?  "  he  asked. 

"No,  child;  and  I  don't  think  he  can  stand  it  much 
longer.  He  has  been  raving  since  six  this  morning,  and, 
by  the  way  I  feel,  I  judge  that  I  will  soon  follow;  and  I 
hope  the  time  is  not  far  distant  when  I  will  be  laid  to  rest, 
though  it  would  be  hard  to  leave  you,  my  boy,  you  and 
little  Birdie,  who  is  as  dear  to  me  as  though  she  were  my 
own  child." 

'*  I  do  not  want  you  to  talk  that  way  any  more,  mamma," 
said  he,  patting  her  cheeks.  "  I  can  not  bear  to  hear  you 
speak  as  though  you  had  no  one  to  love  you  and  care  for 
you,  when  I  love  you  so  much,  and  will  always  take  care  of 
you  when  I  get  to  be  a  man.  These  poor  little  fingers 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  73 

shall  never  have  to  sew  any  more  for  bread,  nor  do  any 
other  kind  of  work, "  and  he  raised  the  pale,  thin  hand  to 
his  lips,  and,  as  he  did  so,  a  tear  dropped  from  his  eyes 
and  fell  upon  her  hand,  and  that  tear-drop  was  sacred  in 
that  mother's  eye,  for  she  wiped  it  away  with  her  tresses, 
that  she  might  carry  it  with  her  to  the  tomb. 

As  Veary  Carlisle  is  to  be  the  hero  of  our  story,   we 
will  give  him  the  benefit  of  a  personal  description. 

He  was  a  lad  of  fourteen  years,  and  was  truly  a  hand- 
some boy,  with  skin  pure  and  healthful  and  features  strong 
and  classic.  His  eyes  were  large  and  bright,  of  a  dark, 
luminous  brown  in  color;  his  hair  very  fine  and  silky,  with 
the  raven's  cast,  and  wavy  enough  to  give  it  that  poetry 
of  form  which  delights  the  artistic  eye.  He  was  of  me- 
dium stature  for  one  of  his  age,  the  only  marked  pecul- 
iarity being  a  sort  of  precocious  maturity  of  form,  a 
degree  of  manliness  not  often  found  in  one  of  that  age ; 
and  what  was  true  of  his  form  of  body  was  also  true  of  the 
shape  and  development  of  face  and  features.  There  was 
an  intellectual  look,  a  ripeness  of  mind,  and  a  depth  of 
understanding  manifest  in  the  contour  and  expression  of 
the  face,  as  well  as  in  the  remarkable  light  and  language, 
so  to  speak,  of  the  full,  brown  eyes — a  growth  and 
strength  of  character,  in  short,  which  was  certainly  remark- 
able in  one  reared  'mid  such  surroundings  as  his.  In  his 
movements  he  was  quick  and  sure,  never  hurried,  and 
never  hesitating  after  his  mind  had  been  once  made  up. 


74  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

In  one  corner  of  the  room  was  a  little  trundle-bed  upon 
which  a  little  girl  of  seven  years  lay  sleeping.  Veary 
walked  over  and  knelt  down  by  the  bed,  and  turned  back 
the  coverlet  and  imprinted  a  kiss  upon  the  lips  of  the  little 
sleeper.  As  he  did  so  it  stirred  in  its  sleep  and  a  dry  sob 
escaped  its  lips  that  trembled  as  if  the  finger  of  grief  had 
touched  the  tender  heart-strings  and  set  them  to  vibrating. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  little  Birdie?"  said  he,  turn- 
ing to  his  mother,  "  she  is  sobbing  as  if  her  little  heart 
would  break." 

"The  little  thing  was  crying  for  something  to  eat,  and 
I  had  nothing  in  the  house  she  could  eat,  and  the  poor 
child  had  to  go  to  sleep  hungry,"  said  his  mother,  sorrow- 
fully. 

"I  can  not  bear  that,  mother,"  said  he,  rising.  "I 
could  not  sleep  one  wink  to-night  if  I  knew  that  little 
Birdie  was  hungry  in  her  sleep.  She  must  have  some- 
thing to  eat  if  the  rent  is  never  paid.  I  will  go  down  and 
get  some  crackers  and  a  little  fresh  butter,  and  will  draw  a 
nice  cup  of  tea,  for  you  look  as  though  you  needed  some- 
thing yourself,  mother.  And  perhaps  a  cup  of  tea  will  do 
father  good  ;  how  sound  he  sleeps  !  "  he  continued,  going 
up  to  the  bed. 

"Don't  wake  him,  child!"  said  his  mother,  "he  has 
just  dropped  off  to  sleep,  and  I  have  been  afraid  to  move 
for  fear  of  waking  him." 

"Mother,"  said  Veary,  going  around  on  his  tiptoes  to 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  75 

where  his  mother  sat,  ' '  I  want  you  to  go  and  feel  how  cold 
pa  is,  and  he  don't  seem  to  breathe  at  all." 

She  arose  and  went  around  to  the  back  of  the  bed. 
His  face  was  to  the  wall.  She  stooped  down  and  placed 
her  ear  to  his  mouth,  but  she  could  not  hear  him  breathe. 
Then  she  laid  her  hand  upon  his  heart,  but  it  was  still. 
It  had  beaten  its  last  stroke,  for  Death,  the  arbitrator  of  all 
claims,  had  laid  his  hands  upon  the  harassed  man,  and  the 
sorrows  of  life  were  ended.  But  the  world  cared  not  for 
one  whose  career  had  ended  so  ignominiously,  and  none 
but  she  who  had  been  most  deeply  injured  stands  by  his 
side.  No  one  but  she  wipes  the  death-damp  from  his 
brow,  as  she  clings  with  a  devotion  to  the  shattered  idol 
which  no  destiny,  however  dark,  can  wrench  away. 

The  kind  family  beneath  came  up  and  closed  his  eyes, 
and  kept  watch  through  the  night.  Long  Mrs.  Carlisle 
tossed  upon  her  sleepless  couch,  trying  in  vain  to  sleep, 
while  Veary  was  planning  and  scheming  how  to  prevent  his 
father  from  being  buried  in  "Potter's  Field." 

"Mother,"  said  he,  coming  up  to  her  the  next  morn- 
ing and  laying  his  arms  around  her  neck,  ' '  I  can  not  bear 
for  father  to  be  buried  in  '  Potter's  Field ; '  it  is  almost 
breaking  my  heart." 

"How  are  we  to  help  it,  my  child?  We  have  no 
money  or  friends ;  the  city  will  have  to  bury  your  father. 
It  is  very,  very  hard,  dear,  but  it  is  our  lot ;  let  us  try  to 
bear  it." 


76  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

"But,  mother,"  he  continued,  "I  have  been  thinking 
of  a  plan,  and  I  think  with  a  little  help  we  will  be  able  to 
get  a  half  lot  down  on  the  north  side ;  it  won't  cost  much. 
I  mean  a  spot  just  large  enough  to  bury  him,  and  when  I 
get  to  be  a  man,  if  I  ever  do,  I  can  buy  a  family  lot."  As 
he  said  this  he  looked  up  earnestly  into  his  mother's  face. 

"My  child,"  said  she,  laying  her  hand  upon  his  curly 
head,  "where  is  our  help  to  come  from?  We  have  not  a 
friendly  hand  to  stretch  out  to  us.  Even  those  who 
have  robbed  your  father  of  his  good  name,  of  the  hard 
earnings  of  years,  and  of  our  rights,  would  not  now  give 
him  a  spot  in  which  to  lay  his  body.  But,  my  child, 
tell  me  what  your  plans  are ;.  there  is  no  time  to  waste  in 
idle  words." 

"Well,  mamma,  I  thought  of  going  to  my  employer 
and  asking  him  to  let  me  have  money  enough  to  bury  my 
father,  and  let  me  work  it  out,  and  I  think  he  will  do  it, 
for  I  have  always  tried  to  please  him,  and  have  always 
been  so  punctual ;  in  fact,  I  am  the  first  boy  every  morning 
at  the  store,  and  never  know  what  it  is  to  sit  down  from 
the  hour  I  get  there  until  I  leave  at  night." 

"  Veary,  my  darling,"  said  she,  "  I  do  not  want  to  frus- 
trate your  plans;  but  let  me  tell  you  that  this  same  man 
of  whom  you  are  speaking  is  the  one  who  ruined  your 
father.  I  kept  it  from  you  because  you  were  in  his  em- 
ploy, and  it  was  I  who  obtained  the  position  for  you.  It 
was  I  who  went  to  him  with  prayers  and  tears,  and  begged 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  77 

him  to  give  you  work,  and  he  drove  me  from  his  door 
with  curses.  It  was  after  that  he  sent  for  you  to  come 
and  go  to  work.  I  suppose  his  conscience  lashed  him. 
Now,  do  you  think  that  he  would  let  you  have  a  dollar 
toward  burying  your  father?" 

' '  I  am  sorry  you  put  me  there  to  work  for  that  man, 
mother,"  said  Veary,  with  flashing  eyes. 

' '  I  did  the  best  I  could,  my  child ;  I  tried  to  get  work 
for  you  at  other  places,  but  I  could  not,  and  I  knew  he  was 
the  one  above  all  others  to  give  you  something  to  do." 

Veary  turned  and  looked  out  upon  the  streets  for  some 
moments,  as  if  meditating;  then  he  turned  again  to  his 
mother,  who  had  not  moved  nor  taken  her  eyes  off  him, 
and  said  in  a  tremulous  voice,  with  his  hand  raised  to 
heaven,  "Here,  in  the  presence  of  you  and  my  father's 
lifeless  form,  I  swear  to  revenge  you  and  him.  That  man 
shall  one  day  feel  my  avenging  hand,  but  I  will  not  put  my 
hands  upon  his  polluted  carcass.  No,  I  will  not  touch 
him  for  fear  they  would  never  be  cleansed,  but  yet  he 
shall  feel  my  avenging  power,  and  shall  be  informed  of  the 
fact.  But  this,"  he  continued,  "is  not  going  to  be  an 
obstacle  in  my  way,  nor  keep  me  from  performing  my  duty. 
I  shall  go  to  him  this  very  minute,  and  if  he  don't  choose 
to  help  bury  his  victim,  I  will  fall  upon  some  other  plan, 
for  I  can  not  and  will  not  see  my  father  buried  in  '  Potter's 
Field,'  if  I  can  help  it." 

"  My  child,"  said  she,  "it  is  of  no  use,  he  will  not  do  it, 


78  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

I  am  sure,  and  it  will  not  do  for  you  to  vex  him,  for  he  is 
a  dangerous  man,  and  if  he  turns  you  off,  you  will  have  no 
place  to  go,  besides,  he  will  turn  us  out  of  this  house; 
we  owe  him  one  month's  rent  already,  and  that  will  have 
to  be  paid.  I  don't  know  what  we  are  to  do,"  she  cried, 
in  a  voice  of  despair,  and  ringing  her  poor,  pale  hands. 
"It  seems  that  God  has  forsaken  us;  I  have  prayed  day 
and  night,  and  He  seems  not  to  hear  my  prayers."  Then 
she  reproached  herself  for  having  spoken  thus  of  her  only 
true  Friend  and  Comforter,  and  she  burst  into  weeping. 

"O  mother!  mother!  "  said  Veary,  throwing  his  arms 
around  her  neck  ;  "  I  do  wish  you  would  not  cry!  If  you 
only  knew  how  bad  it  made  me  feel — what  effect  your 
tears  have  upon  me — I  know  you  would  never  cry  any 
more.  It  seems  that  every  tear  that  falls  from  your  eyes 
is  wrung  from  my  heart.  Besides,  you  never  give  me  any 
encouragement.  You  think  because  I  am  a  little  boy  that 
I  have  not  the  ability  to  do  things  as  they  ought  to  be 
done.  Now,  if  you  will  only  let  me,  I  will  show  you  that 
you  might  depend  upon  me  a  little.  If  you  can  not  en- 
courage me,  my  little  mamma,"  said  he,  patting  her  on 
the  cheek,  "for  gracious  sake  don't  discourage  me." 

She  did  not  speak,  but  looked  into  his  face  with  a  fasci- 
nation that  seemed  to  chain  her  eyes  to  the  spot. 

"My  brave  boy,  not  another  word  from  your  mother's 
lips,  or  one  single  tear  from  her  eyes,  shall  ever  again  cast 
a  shadow  upon  your  young  and  trusting  heart." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

VEARY    CARLISLE    HAS    FOUND    A    FRIEND;    OR,   THE    CLOUD    IS 
PASSING    AWAY. 

There  were  very  likely  boys  of  Veary  Carlisle's  age 
possessing  more  bodily  strength  than  himself;  but  the 
search  would  be  long  and  tedious  that  should  find  one  who 
could  accomplish  more  with  the  strength  given  him,  and 
this  much  his  employer  had  found  out,  for  he  had  strained 
every  nerve  in  his  body,  and  had  tried  him  to  the  utmost 
extent  of  his  strength.  He  was  a  selfish  and  overbearing 
man,  and  every  one  who  was  unfortunate  enough  to  be  in 
his  employ  stood  in  fear  and  trembling.  And  on  this  par- 
ticular morning  he  was  in  no  pleasant  mood.  Everything 
had  gone  wrong,  and  he  had  lost  money  heavily,  and  he 
was  determined  to  take  his  revenge  out  of  those  who 
came  under  his  jurisdiction,  and  poor  Veary  was  the  first 
victim. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  Veary  Carlisle  walked  into 
the  store  of  his  employer,  who  was  sitting  at  the  desk 
writing,  with  a  frown  the  size  of  his  pen-staff  lying  between 
his  eyes;  but  it  seemed  to  multiply  as  he  looked  up 
and  saw  Veary  Carlisle  approaching.  "Isn't  this  a  pretty 

(79) 


8O  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

time  of  day  for  you  to  come  to  the  store  to  work?"  said 
he,  not  even  looking  up,  or  laying  down  his  pen. 

"I  could  not  help  it,  sir,"  said  Veary,  "I  came  to 
tell—" 

"Tell  me  nothing,  you  little  reprobate,  and  take  your- 
self away;  I  have  hired  another  boy  just  for  half  the  wages 
that  I  gave  you." 

"My  father  is—" 

"Your  father  is  a  drunken  old  sot,  just  what  you  will 
come  to,  and  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more  from  you ;  so 
get  out  instantly,  or  I  will  give  you  a  flogging." 

Veary.  turned  and  walked  to  the  door,  hurt  and  morti- 
fied beyond  description,  with  the  cruel  words  ringing  in 
his  ears,  "Your  father  is  a  drunken  sot,  just  what  you 
will  come  to!'  Then  the  blood  commenced  boiling  in 
his  veins,  and  his  eyes  flashed  fire.  It  seemed  as  if  a  tor- 
nado of  passion  had  passed  over  him.  He  turned  and 
looked  his  employer  full  in  the  face,  and  almost  made  him 
quail  beneath  his  piercing  gaze. 

"Mr.  Scullcutter, "  said  he,  in  a  hoarse,  tremulous 
voice,  "you  have  insulted  my  father's  corpse;  you  have 
abused  his  child,  and  driven  him  from  his  employment 
which  bought  bread  for  his  sick  mother  and  helpless  child, 
simply  because  he  remained  at  home  to  bury  his  father. 
You  also  threw  in  my  face  the  sins  of  my  father,  who  lies 
cold  and  stiff  in  the  arms  of  death,  and  whose  sins  now 
lie  at  your  own  door.  You,  who  first  held  the  tempting 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  8 1 

glass  to  his  lips;  you,  who  first  conducted  his  tottering  feet 
to  the  gambling  den,  and  there  took  from  him  his  years  of 
honest  labor  and  left  his  helpless  wife  and  children  to 
suffer,  and  drove  him  to  a  drunkard's  grave  and  now  heap 
insults  upon  his  helpless  child ;  but  you  will  remember  this 
some  day,  mark  my  words  ;  I  am  but  a  boy  now,  but  I 
trust  some  day  to  be  a  man." 

Fen  Scullcutter  seemed  as  though  he  was  petrified  at 
first.  It  was  more  than  he  expected.  Then  he  raised  his 
clinched  fist,  and  coming  toward  him,  exclaimed,  "How 
dare  you  to  speak  to  me  in  that  way ;  how  dare  you  insult 
me  in  this  manner,  in  my  own  house,  you  dirty  pup?" 

"I  dare  to  do  it!"  said  Veary,  "because  I  am  brave 
enough  to  speak  the  truth  and  not  cowardly  enough  to 
swallow  an  insult  if  I  am  but  a  boy,  and  especially  from 
one  who  has  been  the  downfall  of  my  father,  and  whose 
shoes  you  are  not  worthy  to  unlace."  And  with  this  he 
walked  away  leaving  his  employer  foaming  with  rage. 

"  Must  I  give  it  up  at  last?"  said  Veary,  as  he  walked 
along  with  downcast  eyes,  and  the  great  tear-drops  rolling 
down  his  cheeks.  "  Must  my  poor  father  be  buried  in  the 
'Potter's  Field  ? '  Must  I  go  home  and  tell  my  broken-hearted 
mother  that  her  brave  boy,  as  she  called  me,  has  failed  in 
his  undertaking,  after  his  begging  her  to  trust  to  him,  and 
have  confidence  in  him  ?  No,  I  can  not,  I  can  not.  I  will 
get  a  paper  and  look  over  the  '  Wants. '  ' 
6 


82  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

At  that  moment  a  little  newsboy  passed  with  the  morn- 
ing paper. 

"Jimmie,"  said  Veary  to  the  little  newsboy,  "will 
you  be  kind  enough  to  loan  me  the  Courier-Journal  a  few 
moments?  I  want  to  look  over  the  'wants.'  ' 

"Certainly,"  said  the  boy,  and  handed  him  the  paper. 

Veary's  heart  bounded  with  delight  as  his  eyes  fell  upon 
an  advertisement  which  read  as  follows : 

"Wanted!  a  good  office  boy.  Must  have  reference.  Will  pay  good 
wages.  Call  at  No. street,  at  half  past  ten  o'clock." 

"Thank  you,  Jimmie, "  said  Veary  as  he  handed  back 
the  paper  and  hastened  away. 

:£;•;:;:  jjcjfc^^:*:^^ 

Judge  Elmore  was  sitting  alone  in  his  office;  a  cheery 
fire  was  burning  and  snapping  in  the  grate  and  casting  a 
rosy  glow  over  the  handsome  Brussels  carpet  and  the  rich 
and  beautiful  furniture  with  which  the  office  was  furnished. 
He  had  been  busy  writing  all  the  morning,  and  had  just 
laid  down  his  pen  and  taken  a  seat  by  the  fire  when  a  low 
tap  was  heard  upon  the  door. 

"Come  in,"  was  the  response. 

The  door  opened,  and  a  curly  head  and  a  pair  of  brown 
eyes  greeted  him. 

"  Have  I  the  honor  of  seeing  Judge  Elmore?"  said  the 
intruder,  bowing  low,  with  hat  in  hand. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  old  judge,  smiling  and  bowing  ;  "  I 
am  Judge  Elmore;  what  can  I  do  for  you,  my  little  man?" 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  83 

"I  came  in  answer  to  your  advertisement,"  said  he 
bowing  again,  as  a  faint  flush  mounted  to  his  temples,  and 
then  stole  behind  his  ears. 

"  What  is  your  name,  my  little  man  ?" 

"  My  name  is  Veary  Carlisle." 

"And  you  want  a  situation  as  office  boy!" 

"Yes,  sir.  I  am  out  of  a  situation  at  present  and 
would  be  glad  to  get  anything  to  do." 

"  Whom  have  you  been  working  for  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Scullcutter  &  Co.,  but  he  has  discharged  me." 

' '  Discharged  you  ?  ' ' 

"Yes,  sir;  he  has  discharged  me,  and  I  am  compelled 
to  get  employment  in  some  way,  for  I  have  a  sick  mother 
and  helpless  little  sister  depending  upon  me  for  their  daily 
bread." 

"  What  did  he  discharge  you  for?" 

"Because  I  did  not  go  to  work  this  morning.  I  re- 
mained at  home  to  see  my  father  buried." 

"To  see  your  father  buried !"  said  the  old  judge,  look- 
ing over  his  glasses,  and  wondering  if  he  had  heard  aright. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Is  it  possible!  Did  you  tell  him  why  you  staid 
away  ? ' ' 

"  No,  sir.  He  would  not  let  me  tell  him,  nor  give  him 
any  explanation." 

"  A  brute,"  cried  the  judge,  as  he  gave  the  fire  a  punch 
and  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand,  and  for  a  moment  there 


84       -  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

was  silence.  Then  he  raised  his  head  again  and  said, 
"When  was  your  father  buried?  " 

"  My  father  is  not  buried  yet." 

"Your  father  is  not  buried  yet,"  said  the  judge  in  as- 
tonishment, "and  you  out  looking  for  employment?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Veary,  "though  my  father  lies  dead 
in  the  house  I  can  not  allow  my  poor  sick  mother  to  suffer. 
And  unless  I  get  work  she  will  surely  suffer." 

Then  he  told  him  how  he  had  gone  to  his  employer,  to 
beg  his  assistance  in  burying  his  father,  that  he  might  not 
be  buried  in  the  "  Potter's  Field."  And  he  also  told  him 
what  a  high-minded  and  honorable  man  his  father  had  been 
in  former  days,  and  how  he  had  fallen  from  his  integrity 
in  an  unguarded  moment — how  he  had  been  tempted  to 
the  bar-room  by  those  whom  he  took  to  be  his  friends  and 
in  one  single  night  lost  his  entire  fortune  while  sitting  at 
the  gaming-table.  "And  Mr.  Scullcutter, "  he  continued, 
"is  the  one  that  ruined  my  father.  He  has  in  his  posses- 
sion all  my  father's  hard  earnings." 

"And  then  refuse  to  give  his  child  employment?"  said 
the  old  judge,  with  a  nod. 

"It  is  true,  sir,"  said  Veary. 

"  Did  you  say  your  father  was  named  Carlisle?" 

"Yes,  sir.  Julius  Carlisle  was  my  father's  name,  and 
he  was  born  and  raised  in  West  Virginia.  Was  a  lawyer 
by  profession,  and  'twas  said  that  he  was  a  bright  star  in 
his  profession." 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  85 

' '  Well,  bless  my  life,  boy,  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me 
that  you  are  Julius  Carlisle's  son !  Can  it  be  possible  ? 
Get  up  and  come  to  the  light  and  let  me  see  if  there  is  any 
resemblance." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  judge,  looking  over  his  glasses, 
"there  is  Jule's  eyes  and  forehead.  The  very  image  of 
him  when  he  was  a  boy ;  bless  my  life,  if  this  don't  beat  all ; 
sit  down,  my  boy,  sit  down.  Well,  well,  well ;  how  long 
since  your  father  left  Virginia?  " 

"Seven  years,"  said  Veary.  "We  first  went  to  Cin- 
cinnati to  live,  and  it  was  there  father  met  with  Mr.  Scull- 
cutter,  and  after  he  lost  his  property  he  moved  to  this 
place.  Did  you  know  my  father,  Judge  Elmore?  " 

"Did  I  know  your  father,  child?  Why,  he  was  the 
dearest  friend  I  ever  had.  To  him  I  owe  my  success  in 
life.  And  it  grieves  me,"  he  continued,  wiping  a  tear 
from  his  honest  old  eyes.  ' '  it  pains  me  to  think  that 
Julius  Carlisle,  my  own  tried  and  true  friend,  should  be 
living  right  here  under  my  nose  and  suffering  for  the  want 
of  a  friendly  hand,  and  I  with  plenty  of  money,  more 
than  I  know  what  to  do  with,  and  could  not  help  him. 
Ah !  well,  such  is  life,"  and  he  arose  and  gathered  up  his 
hat  and  cane  in  an  excited  manner,  but  he  fell  back  in  his 
chair  again  and  groaned.  "Ah  !  well,"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
thought  that  I  would  walk  home  with  you,  but  I  believe 
my  rheumatism  is  going  to  prevent  me." 

"  You  had  better  not  try  it,  judge,"  said  Veary.      "I 


86  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

don't  think  you  can  climb  those  steps,  for  we  live  in  the 
fifth  story  of  a  tenement  house." 

"  God  help  us,"  said  the  judge,  falling  back  in  his  chair. 
"  Is  it  possible  that  your  poor  old  father  and  mother  had  to 
climb  those  flights  of  stairs  ?  Well,  take  this,  my  child ; 
it  is  one  hundred  dollars,  and  all  I  have  about  me.  It  will 
bury  your  father  decently.  Poor  man,  I  wish  it  had  been 
in  my  power  to  have  helped  him  while  he  lived.  Ah, 
well,  he  don't  need  it  now!  " 

Veary  was  so  happy  he  scarcely  knew  what  to  say  or 
how  to  act. 

"I  can  not  sufficiently  thank  you,"  said  Veary,  hold- 
ing the  money  between  his  fingers,  which  trembled  with 
excitement;  "and  I  hope  you  will  permit  me  to  repay  you 
some  day." 

"That  is  all  right,"  said  the  judge,  "but  you  had  bet- 
ter hasten,  for  you  will  have  no  time  to  wait.  Tell  your 
mother  that  she  has  my  heartfelt  sympathy,  and  that  I 
trust  the  dark  clouds  of  adversity  will  soon  pass  away. 
Come  to  me  to-morrow  morning  at  eleven  o'clock.  Now 
go,  and  God  bless  you,  my  boy." 

^^•^•^.^^.^^.^•^ 

For  two  hours  Mrs.  Carlisle  walked  the  floor  impa- 
tiently, waiting  for  the  return  of  her  son.  Now  and  then 
she  would  go  to  the  window  and  look  out.  The  snow  was 
fast  falling,  covering  up  the  footsteps  of  the  passers-by, 
and  wrapping  all  creation  in  one  great  winding-sheet.  Pres- 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  8f 

ently  she  heard  his  footsteps,  and  in  another  second  his 
arms  were  around  her  neck. 

"O  mother,"  said  he,  "I  have  learned  one  thing  this 
morning  that  I  did  not  know  before." 

"  What  is  it,  my  boy?  I  know  that  experience  is  a  dear 
school,  and  that  your  young  and  unsophisticated  heart 
will  have  to  learn  some  bitter  lessons  in  life ;  but  I  trust 
your  teacher  has  not  been  a  hard  one  this  morning,  my 
child." 

"No;  it  is  not  a  bitter  lesson,  my  mother,  but  the 
sweetest  lesson  I  ever  learned.  One  that  teaches  me  that 
there  are  some  good  people  in  this  world,  and  not  all  bad 
ones,"  and  as  he  said  this  he  slipped  the  bill  of  money 
into  her  hands  and  exclaimed,  "  Now,  father  won't  be  buried 
in  'Potter's  Field.'" 

Neither  was  he  buried  in  "  Potter's  Field,"  but  was  laid 
away  upon  a  beautiful  slope,  beneath  the  shadows  of  the 
elm  trees  ;  and  the  violets  and  buttercups  which  Veary  and 
little  golden-haired  Birdie  have  planted  have  almost  hidden 
it  from  view. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  DEATH-BED  GIFT — A  MOTHER'S  BLESSING. 

Winter  unbound  her  icy  chains,  and  summer  came  and 
ruled  over  the  land  with  her  red-hot  rod  until  the  term  of 
her  sovereignty  was  gone,  and  the  grim  old  monarch  has 
again  taken  possession  of  the  throne,  and  his  pale  banner 
floats  across  the  snow-laden  sky,  and  his  breath  traces  fanci- 
ful hieroglyphics  of  his  decrees  on  the  window-panes  in 
figures  of  frosted  crystal. 

There  have  been  many  changes  during  the  old  year 
that  now  lies  buried  in  the  past — changes  for  the  better, 
and  changes  for  the  worse.  But  I  trust,  dear  reader,  that 
the  change  that  has  been  wrought  in  the  home  of  our  hero 
is  for  the  better.  Or,  at  least,  I  think  so  now,  and  think 
that  you  will  acknowledge  the  same  at  the  conclusion  of 
our  story. 

Just  twelve  months  have  passed  over  Veary  Carlisle's 
head  since  that  dark  and  gloomy  day  he  heard  the  solemn 
sound  of  the  frozen  clods  falling  upon  his  father's  cofrin- 
lid.  Just  twelve  months  to  a  day  he  was  called  upon  to 
stand  by  the  death-bed  of  his  idolized  mother,  to  hear  her 
blessing,  and  receive  the  parting  kiss. 

(88) 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  89 

"  Come  near  me,  my  son,"  said  she,  faintly,  "  I  am  too 
feeble  to  speak  loud." 

He  came  near  and  knelt  down  by  the  bed  and  took  one 
of  her  cold,  pale  hands  in  his  own  and  pressed  it  to  his 
lips. 

"  Veary,  is  this  you,  my  darling?  I  can  not  see,"  said 
his  dying  mother. 

"Yes,  dear  mother,  it  is  Veary,"  he  replied,  as  the 
tears  trickled  down  his  cheeks  and  dropped  upon  the  hand 
that  he  held  tightly  in  his  own. 

"God  bless  you,  my  darling,"  said  she,  "my  brave 
and  noble  boy,  and  may  He  preserve  you  from  the  temp- 
tations that  will  crowd  thick  and  fast  upon  your  pathway, 
and  guide  your  young  footsteps  into  paths  of  wisdom, 
virtue,  and  truth.  And  God  grant  that  you  may  be  as 
good  a  man  as  you  have  been  to  me  a  son.  Now  kiss 
your  mother,  and  bring  me  little  Birdie." 

Veary  did  just  as  she  requested  him.  When  little 
Birdie  was  laid  in  her  arms  she  imprinted  the  farewell  kiss 
upon  her  cheeks,  and  said,  "God  bless  you,  my  darling, 
and  be  your  Guide  and  Protector  through  life.  In  the  arms 
of  your  preserver  I  entrust  you,  and  may  you  be  a  blessing 
and  a  comfort  to  him  when  I  am  no  more." 

"  Now,  my  son,"  said  she,  turning  to  Veary,  "  to  your 
tender  care  I  entrust  my  adopted  child,  and  your  adopted 
sister.  Take  her  and  promise  me  that  you  will  love  her 
and  protect  her  as  long  as  you  both  live.  She  will  help 


9<3  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

to  strengthen  your  energy,  and  you  will  feel  that  you  have 
something  to  live  for  and  to  work  for.  And  God  grant 
that  she  may  prove  a  blessing  to  you,  and  that  your  future 
lives  may  be  full  of  sunshine  and  happiness."  And,  as 
she  laid  her  in  his  arms,  she  said,  "  Do  you  promise  me, 
Veary?" 

"  I  do,  mother,"  said  Veary,  choking  back  a  sob ;  and 
next  moment  he  had  thrown  himself  upon  her  breast  and 
wept  in  bitter  anguish.  "O,  mother,  mother,"  he  cried 
in  tones  of  unutterable  woe ;  "I  can  not  give  you  up. 
Speak  to  me  once  more — once  again,  mother  dear." 

She  opened  her  eyes  and  a  smile  passed  over  her  coun- 
tenance, but  she  never  spoke  again.  Her  weary  spirit  had 
passed  the  golden  gates,  and  had  soared  to  that  city  on 
high,  where  she  would  be  free  from  the  petty  wants  of  this 
poor  life.  The  last  few  days  of  her  life,  as  well  as  the 
days  of  her  young  married  life,  had  been  spent  in  peace 
and  happiness.  Judge  Elmore  had  given  her  a  beautiful 
cottage  in  the  suburbs  of  the  city,  and  provided  her  with 
a  nurse  and  all  the  comforts  of  life.  Veary  still  remained 
with  him,  and  each  day  of  his  life  he  became  more  and 
more  endeared  to  him. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
BIRDIE'S  TRIALS. 

In  a  snug  little  cottage  in  the  suburbs  of  the  city  sits 
an  old  crone,  whose  name  we  will  give  to  the  reader  as 
Granny  Nailar.  We  call  her  Granny  Nailar  because  she 
is  known  by  no  other  name,  or  at  least  the  only  one  we 
are  familiar  with.  She  is  nodding  in  the  corner,  and  her 
breath  is  polluted  with  the  smell  of  whisky.  At  her  feet 
sits  a  little  girl,  with  deep  blue  eyes,  and  hair  like  threads 
of  gold  from  the  fairy's  loom,  curled  upon  the  hearth-rug. 
The  rug  is  a  shabby  one ;  so  threadbare  that  little  of  its 
original  pattern  is  distinguishable.  The  room  is  small, 
and  there  is  but  little  fire  in  the  grate ;  though  the  earth 
is  carpeted  with  snow  and  ice,  and  the  sharp,  cutting  wind 
delights  to  whistle  playfully  through  the  chinks  of  the 
windows  and  doors,  and  through  the  key-hole,  and  down 
the  chimney,  and  stirs  the  golden  locks  of  the  little  girl, 
as  she  dresses  up  the  fire-poker  with  Granny  Nailar's  new 
bandanna  handkerchief. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  you  little  devil,  you,"  exclaimed 
the  old  hag,  as  she  snatched  the  handkerchief  from  the 
little  girl,  and  gave  her  a  slap  which  set  the  poor  child's 


92  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

ears  almost  on  fire.  "How  dare  you  take  my  handker- 
chief and  dress  up  that  dirty  fire-poker  with  it,  when  you 
know  it  is  all  that  I  have.  Just  look  how  it  is  soiled. 
Now  take  that,  and  that,  and  that,"  said  she,  boxing  poor 
Birdie's  ears,  first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the  other,  until 
her  head  fairly  ached  from  the  blows.  "  Now  get  up  this 
minute,  and  take  yourself  out  doors  and  pick  up  some 
wood  and  put  on  the  fire ;  and  then  get  your  old  ragged 
dress  and  bonnet  and  come  to  me.  You're  crying,  are 
you?  Now  look  here,  my  lady  gay,  if  you  don't  stop 
them  snubs,  and  wipe  up  them  tears,  and  do  as  I  bid  you, 
I  will  take  that  hickory  to  you,  and  when  I  do  get  to  work 
on  you  all  the  demons  from  the  lower  regions  can't  pull 
me  off.  And  now  let  me  give  you  a  piece  of  advice,  that 
will  be  a  benefit  to  you  after  you  are  dead  and  rotten,  and 
that  is  this,  let  me  hear  of  you  repeating  to  Veary  Carlisle 
what  I  say  or  do,  I  will  kill  you  and  throw  you  out  to  that 
big  hog,  and  he  will  eat  you  up.  Veary  does  not  care  for 
you,  no  way.  He  is  not  your  brother,  either." 

"Buddie  Veary  is  my  buddie, "  said  poor  little  Birdie, 
choking  back  a  sob,  "and  he  loves  me,  too." 

"Well,  he  won't  love  you  any  more,"  she  continued, 
drawing  the  filthy-looking  bonnet  down  over  her  face. 
"And  he  told  me  that  if  you  did  not  mind  me,  to  whip 
you  and  make  you  mind.  Now  you  have  ruined  my  new 
handkerchief,  and  you  must  go  out  and  beg  money  enough 
to-day  to  buy  me  a  new  one.  Do  you  hear?" 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  93 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  the  little  innocent,  sobbing. 

"And  another  thing,  don't  you  go  near  old  Elmore's 
office  for  Veary  to  see  you.  If  you  do,  I  will  beat  you 
soundly.  Do  you  hear?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Besides,  Veary  will  whip  you  himself  if  he  sees  you, 
and  I  will  tell  him  what  I  had  to  send  you  out  for." 

' '  Veary  never  whip  me  in  his  life,  and  you  never  whip 
me  when  he  is  at  home,  neither.  I  wish  he  would  stay 
home  all  the  time,"  said  Birdie. 

"  It  is  because  you  behave  yourself  when  he  is  home, 
That  is  why  you  never  get  any  whippings ;  but  I  am  not 
going  to  have  you  stand  up  there  and  sass  me,  when  I  am 
old  enough  for  your  great-grandmother.  I  will  shut  you 
up  in  the  dark  garret,  and  not  give  you  one  mouthful  to 
eat,  like  I  did  the  other  day.  Will  you  go  now,  without 
another  word?  And  don't  you  come  back  empty-handed, 
neither.  Let  me  see;  go  round  to  that  good  doctor's 
office  who  gave  you  that  big  handful  of  money — you 
remember,  don't  you?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Well,  when  you  see  a  heap  of  fine  gentlemen  stand- 
ing on  the  corner,  you  must  go  up  to  them  and  sing,  '  Out 
in  this  cold  world  alone.1  And  don't  forget  to  say  that 
your  mother  is  sick  in  bed,  and  has  no  money  to  buy  any- 
thing to  eat.  If  you  tell  them  that,  you  will  get  a  heap  of 
money.  And  if  you  are  smart  and  get  lots  of  money,  I 


94  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

will  buy  you  a  doll  one  of  these  days — a  real  doll,  with 
hair  and  eyes  just  like  your  own." 

At  these  words,  the  face  of  little  Birdie  brightened  up, 
for  if  there  is  anything  that  will  bring  happiness  to  a  little 
girl's  heart,  it  comes  in  the  shape  of  a  doll. 

From  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  there  is  one  bright  spot 
in  a  woman's  life  around  which  memory  loves  to  cling.  It 
comes  with  the  presentation  of  the  first  doll,  and  the  mem- 
ory of  that  doll  is  never  obliterated.  Though  years  of 
care  and  the  stern  realities  of  life  ma)'  cause  her  to  forget 
things  of  greater  consequence,  and  real  dolls  with  bright 
eyes  and  flaxen  hair  hang  over  the  back  of  her  chair,  and 
sit  in  groups  at  the  fireside,  she  will  never  forget  her  first 
doll. 

I  can  not  forget  the  unspeakable  happiness  that  filled 
my  childish  heart,  when  I  awoke  one  Christmas  morning 
and  peeped  over  to  the  fire-place  where  I  had  hung  my 
stocking  for  Santa  Clans,  and  spied  a  pair  of  doll-feet 
sticking  out  at  the  top.  And  when  I  am  old,  and  my 
head  is  gray,  and  the  things  of  the  past  are  but  a  dream 
that  has  been  told,  those  doll-feet  will  ever  be  fresh  in  my 
memory. 

Birdie  received  her  instructions  and  started  on  her  mis- 
sion of  begging,  as  she  had  done  ever  since  her  mother's 
death,  when  she  was  unfortunate  enough  to  fall  in  the 
clutches  of  this  old  hag,  who  was  her  mother's  nurse,  and 
whom  Veary  had  allowed  to  remain  after  his  mother's  death 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  95 

to  take  care  of  his  little  sister.  She  was  one  of  those  nu- 
merous hypocrites  with  which  we  so  often  come  in  con- 
tact, who  carry  God  in  their  mouths  and  the  devil  in  their 
hearts.  She  had  so  completely  beguiled  Veary  Carlisle 
that  he  had  unbounded  confidence  in  her  faith  and  sincer- 
ity, and  would  say  to  his  little  sister,  "  You  must  be  a 
good  girl  and  mind  granny,  and  do  just  as  she  bids  you," 
little  dreaming  that  his  little  sister,  whom  his  dying  mother 
had  entrusted  to  his  tender  care,  was  sent  out  every  morn- 
ing on  a  mission  of  beggary,  and  should  she  not  be  suc- 
cessful a  whipping  or  a  prison  in  a  dark  garret,  without 
food  or  fire,  was  her  reward.  And  the  money  which  he 
left  her  to  buy  food  and  fuel  was  spent  for  whisky.  Never 
in  his  life  had  he  dreamed  of  little  Birdie's  cruel  treat- 
ment, and  she  was  too  much  afraid  of  the  old  woman  to 
reveal  her  cruelty  to  Veary.  But  the  scars  upon  her  back, 
which  had  only  felt  the  pressure  of  a  mother's  gentle  hand, 
told  too  plainly  the  tale  the  lips  were  forbidden  to  reveal. 

O,  woman!  born  to  be  a  mother!  that  thou  shouldst 
ever  be  bereft  of  a  mother,  and  thy  infancy  be  thus  left 
alone  with  want  and  poverty ;  with  nerves  most  delicately 
attuned,  to  feel  and  to  suffer  most  excruciatingly,  sensi- 
tively affected  by  any  rude  touch  of  pleasure  or  of  pain ; 
capable  of  the  most  self-sacrificing  love,  and  always  yearn- 
ing for  its  smiles ;  with  perceptions  keen  and  quick  to 
feel  and  understand.  No  wonder  the  wails  and  cries  of  the 
infantile  throng  are  heard  in  our  land. 


96  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

Woe  be  unto  him  who  shall  dare  to  lay  fingers  on  one  of 
these  little  ones,  of  whom  God  hath  said,  "  Suffer  little  chil- 
dren to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not,  for  of  such  is 
the  kingdom  of  heaven." 

How  sweet  is  the  poet's  appeal  in  behalf  of  these  little 
ones — 

Deal  gently  with  these  homeless  ones, 

Though  lowly  they  may  be, 
For  they  have  much  to  tempt  and  test 

That  you  can  never  see. 

And  when  within  your  happy  homes 

You  hear  the  voice  of  mirth, 
And  smiling  faces  gather  'round 

Your  warm  and  cheerful  hearth, 

Let  charitable  thoughts  go  forth, 

For  these  sad,  homeless  ones, 
And  your  own  lot  more  blest  will  be, 

From  ev'ry  kind  deed  you've  done. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

DR.    ST.   GEORGE   AND   THE    LITTLE    BEGGAR    GIRL, 

It  was  a  cold,  bitter  day  in  December — a  day  which 
would  almost  tempt  a  judge  from  his  tribunal,  a  physician 
from  his  patient,  or  a  man  from  seeking  the  smiles  of  his 
fiancee. 

All  day  the  snow  and  rain  had  been  falling  and  freezing 
upon  the  pavement,  making  silver  daggers  hang  from  the 
eaves  of  the  houses,  and  bending  the  trees  and  shrubbery, 
that  looked  as  though  they  were  bowed  with  grief — mourn- 
ing for  the  departing  year. 

"What  has  come  over  me  this  morning?"  soliloquized 
Dr.  St.  George,  leaning  his  head  against  the  mantel-piece, 
and  gazing  down  into  the  grate  where  a  bright  fire  was 
glowing.  "  I  feel  so  depressed  in  spirit ;  I  suppose  it  is 
the  miserable  weather,  for  it  is  enough  to  kill  any  one 
with  the  '  blues.' ' 

And,  sure  enough,  he  did  look  like  a  statue  of  sadness 
and  solitude  in  a  wilderness  of  voluptuous  luxuries.  It 
seemed  impossible  for  one  to  feel  gloomy  or  sad  'mid  such 
surroundings.  His  office,  where  we  will  now  conduct  our 
readers,  is  exquisitely  fitted  up.  Everything  seems  to 
7  (97) 


98  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

blend  in  harmony.  In  one  corner  of  the  room  is  a  beauti- 
ful book-case  filled  with  the  choicest  of  reading;  and  upon 
the  opposite  side  is  another,  which  contains  his  medical 
works.  His  desk  is  of  walnut,  and  is  beautiful  in  shape, 
and  covered  with  crimson  velvet;  while  the  carpet,  chairs, 
and  divans  all  match  in  color.  In  the  center  of  the  room 
is  a  marble-slab  table,  upon  which  sits  a  vase  of  hot-house 
flowers,  and  which  have  perfumed  the  room  with  their 
sweet  odor,  and  over  the  whole  a  mocking-bird  is  splitting 
its  throat  in  ecstacies,  and  seems  to  rejoice  over  the  death- 
bed^of  the  dying  year  and  the  approaching  of  the  Christ- 
mas-bells, and  trying,  if  possible,  to  delight  the  ears  of 
its  devoted  master  and  companion. 

A  low  tap  upon  the  door. 

"Come  in,"  was  the  quick  response. 

The  knob  turned  but  did  not  unbolt. 

"It  must  be  a  child,"  said  Dr.  St.  George,  and  he 
hastened  to  open  the  door,  and,  in  spite  of  his  unpleasant 
feelings,  a  smile  spread  over  his  countenance  as  he  looked 
down  upon  the  little  waif  at  his  feet;  and  had  it  not  been 
for  two  little  violets  peeping  from  beneath  a  dirty  hood,  it 
would  have  been  difficult  for  him  to  ascertain  whether  it 
was  a  human  being,  or  a  bundle  of  rags  that  had  escaped 
from  the  paper-mill. 

"Well,  well,  well,"  said  the  doctor,  "if  here  is  not 
my  little  beggar-girl  again.  Come  in,  child,  it  is  a  fearful 
day  for  a  little  girl  like  you  to  be  out.  Come  to  the  fire 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A   NAME.  99 

and  warm ;  for  you  look  as  if  you  were  half  frozen.  It  is 
a  pity,"  said  he,  closing  the  door  much  harder  than  he 
intended,  "that  childhood  and  innocence  should  be  thrust 
out  to  suffer  for  the  sins  of  their  parents." 

"Mr.  Doctor,  I  don't  like  for  anybody  to  call  me  a 
beggar,"  said  she,  spreading  out  her  little  purple  fingers  to 
the  glowing  fire. 

"  Why  don't  you  want  to  be  called  a  beggar?  "  said  he, 
drawing  her  close  to  his  chair. 

"'Cause  I  don't,  that's  all." 

"  Well,  I  won't  call  you  so  any  more  then,  if  you  will 
tell  me  your  name." 

"My  name  is  Birdie." 

"  Have  you  no  other  name  beside  Birdie?  " 

"No.     That's  all." 

"  Well,  what  is  your  mamma's  name?  " 

"I  ain't  got  no  mamma.  She's  gone  up  to  heaven, 
and  I  ain't  nobody's  child  now." 

"Poor  child,"  said  he,  as  he  thought  of  his  own  little 
one  lying  so  cold  and  still  in  the  bosom  of  the  earth, 
snatched  away  from  the  arms  of  fond  parents,  away  from 
a  home  of  luxury  where  she  would  never  know  a  want  or 
aught  of  grief  that  wealth  could  shield  her  from,  while 
this  one  was  left  to  wander  alone  and  uncared  for,  without 
parents,  without  friends,  or  even  the  comforts  of  life. 

"  Mr.  Doctor,  what  are  you  thinking  about?  "  said  she, 
taking  one  of  his  hands  to  play  with. 


IOO  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  my  little  girl,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Have  you  dot  a  little  girl  ?"  said  Birdie,  looking  in- 
terested. 

"  I  had  one,"  said  he,  "  but  she  is  now  in  heaven,  and 
I  have  no  little  girl  now." 

"Is  her  mamma  there,  too?" 

"Yes,  her  mamma  is  there,  too." 

"Well,  she  won't  be  afraid  then,"  said  she,  patting  his 
hand. 

A  faint  smile  passed  over  his  countenance  as  he  gazed 
in  silent  amazement  upon  the  little  beggar,  who  did  not 
want  to  be  called  a  beggar.  Presently  he  raised  his  hand 
to  her  head  and  pulled  back  the  hood  that  had  almost 
concealed  her  face  from  view.  O,  he  almost  lost  his 
breath.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  been  suddenly 
brought  face  to  face  with  a  dead  past — with  the  dreadful 
reality  of  some  terrible  tragedy.  He  felt  as  if  he  had 
witnessed  a  rash  hand  draw  the  white  sheet  from  off  the 
face  of  his  dead  wife,  and  leave  it  exposed  to  view.  \Yhat 
eyes  of  heaven's  undimmed  blue !  What  shining  showers 
of  sunny  ringlets  concealed  beneath  that  dirty  hood.  "  I 
never  saw  a  more  perfect  likeness  in  my  life,"  said  he  to 
himself,  as  he  gazed  upon  the  child.  "Her  eyes  and 
hair  and  forehead,  and  even  the  little  brown  mole  upon 
her  left  cheek.  If  I  did  not  know  that  my  own  little  one 
was  safe  in  the  arms  of  its  mother,  I  would  claim  her  for 
my  own." 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  IOI 

"I  have  dot  something  for  you,"  said  she,  looking  at 
him  coquettishly. 

"  Got  something  for  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  I  bet  you  can't  guess  what  it  is." 

"  Let's  see,"  said  the  doctor,  closing  his  eyes,  "  candy  ?" 

"No." 

"Some  nuts?  " 

"No." 

"Some  pretty  flowers?" 

f'O,  you  saw  it,"  said  she,  unrolling  a  piece  of  soiled 
paper,  which  she  had  just  taken  out  of  her  bosom. 

"No,  I  did  not,"  said  he,  laughing. 

"  Honor  bright?" 

"Yes,  honor  bright." 

"Well,  here  it  is,"  said  she,  holding  up  a  beautiful 
button-hole  bouquet.  "It  is  just  as  fresh  as  it  can  be,  and 
not  a  leaf  is  withered.  \Yill  you  put  it  in  your  coat?" 

"Certainly,"  said  the  doctor,  reaching  out  his  hand  to 
take  it.  "  Where  did  you  get  this  pretty  bouquet?" 

"O,  I  found  it  just  at  the  top  of  the  steps." 

"Well,  I  will  have  to  thank  you,  little  missie, "  said  he, 
"  for  I  have  not  received  such  a  nice  present  in  a  long 
time.  But  tell  me,  little  one,  how  came  you  to  give  it 
to  me  ?  " 

"  Because  I  likes  you,"  was  the  frank  reply. 

"Why  do  you  like  me  better  than  any  other  man?  I 
am  afraid  you  are  a  little  flirt. " 


IO2  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

' '  I  loves  you  because  you  are  such  an  awful  good 
man,"  said  she,  looking  up  into  his  face  with  perfect  trust 
and  confidence. 

"  Why  do  you  think  that  I  am  a  good  man?  "  said  he, 
patting  her  on  the  cheek. 

"Because  you  never  stamp  your  foot  at  me,  and  drive 
me  out  when  I  come  in  your  office,  like  some  of  these 
bad  men  do." 

"Perhaps  you  plague  them  too  much.  You  know 
gentlemen  don't  like  to  be  troubled  when  they  are  busy." 

"Well,  I  am  glad  you  are  never  busy  then,"  said  she, 
drawing  a  long  breath. 

"O,  you  are  mistaken,"  said  he,  holding  up  a  large 
book.  "I  have  to  read  and  study  all  these  books,  and 
when  I  am  not  doing  that  I  am  attending  the  sick." 

''Can  you  cure  sick  people?"  said  she,  looking  more 
interested  than  ever. 

''I  do  sometimes,"  said  he  laughing,  "and  sometimes 
I  do.  not.  It  depends  on  whether  they  are  curable  or 
not" 

"Well,  I  wish  you  would  cure  my  granny,"  she  re- 
plied, drawing  another  long  breath;  "then  F  wouldn't 
have  to  beg  any  more,  and  you  would  not  call  me  a  little 
beggar,  neither,  would  you?" 

"But  I  am  not  going  to  call  you  a  little  beggar  any 
more  if  you  don't  want  me  to,"  said  he.  "Now  tell  me 
where  you  live,  and  I  will  go  and  give  her  some  medicine." 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  1 03 

"  I  can't  tell  you,"  said  she;   "it  is  a  long  ways." 
"  What  is  the  matter  with  your  granny  ?  " 
"I   don't  know;   she  takes  something  that  she  calls 
medicine,  and  then  she  gets  sick  right  away,  and  can't  walk 
at  all.     Is  not  that  awful  ?  " 

"Yes,  it  is  awful,"  said  the  doctor,  for  he  had  taken 
the  hint,  when  it  was  not  intended  for  one ;  for  Birdie  did 
not  understand  the  malady  with  which  her  granny  was  af- 
flicted. He  had  now  become  interested  in  the  child,  and 
was  determined  to  find  out  as  much  as  he  could  about  the 
little  waif.  A  bond  of  sympathy  had  sprung  up  between 
them,  and  he  felt  an  interest  in  her  that  he  had  not  felt  in 
any  one  before.  He  would  sit  for  hours  thinking  of  her, 
and  then  he  would  try  and  cast  her  out  of  his  thoughts ;  but 
it  seemed  that  her  image  was  chained  to  his  memory  by 
some  mysterious  power. 

"  Have  you  no  one  but  your  granny?  "  said  he,  picking 
her  up  and  setting  her  upon  his  knee. 

"  O,  yes  ;  I  have  a  buddy  Veary, "  she  replied,  smiling 
up  in  the  doctor's  face.  "But  he  is  being  made  a  lawyer 
down  at  Judge  Elmore's  office ;  and  what  do  you  think, 
he  says  if  I  be  a  good  girl  and  mind  granny,  who  ain't  my 
granny,  when  he  gets  to  be  a  big  man  he  will  buy  me  a  big, 
fine  house,  and  I  shall  have  it  all  to  myself.  Won't  I  be  a 
grand  lady  then  ?  Granny  won't  be  there  to  make  me  beg. 
I  don't  love  to  beg,"  she  continued;  "  mamma  never  made 
me  beg!  she  was  a  good  mamma." 


IO4  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

"Is  it  possible,"  said  Dr.  St.  George  to  himself,  "that 
Veary  Carlisle  allows  his  little  sister  to  go  out  begging  in 
the  streets?  I  can't  believe  that  he  is  aware  of  it;  if  he  is, 
he  is  not  the  boy  I  took  him  to  be." 

"O,  my  buddy  Veary  don't  know  that  I  beg,  'cause 
granny  won't  let  me  tell  him.  She  says  if  I  tell  him  she 
will  kill  me." 

"And  she  sends  you  out  on  the  streets  begging,  un- 
known to  your  brother?" 

"Yes,  sir;  and  I  'spect  I  will  have  to  go  out  and  beg 
some  money  now,  for  I  ain't  got  none  yet,  and  if  I  don't 
get  some  she  will — " 

"She  will  do  what?" 

"Well,  if  I  tell  you,  you  won't  tell  buddy  Veary,  will 
you?" 

"If  you  say  not." 

"Well,  she  will  beat  me." 

"Beat  you!" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Does  she  always  beat  you  when  you  go  home  with- 
out money?" 

"Yes,  sir.  She  beats  me  and  then  she  won't  give  me 
anything  to  eat." 

"  How  often  does  your  brother  come  home?" 

"He  comes  every  Wednesday  and  every  Sunday." 

•"Did  he  ever  see  your  granny  drunk?" 

"Drunk!     What's  that?" 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  1 05 

"Being  under  the  influence  of  liquor." 

"  Liquor?  Granny  don't  drink  liquor;  I  drink  the 
liquor  and  granny  eats  the  meat." 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  doctor,  laughing;  "did  he  ever 
see  her  when  she  was  sick,  after  she  had  taken  some  of 
that  medicine  you  were  speaking  of  just  now?" 

"  No,  sir;  she  never  takes  medicine  when  buddy  Veary 
is  at  home ;  she  never  beats  me  either.  I  wish  he  would 
stay  all  the  time." 

"  Why  don't  he  come  home  every  night?" 

"Because  he  is  being  made  a  lawyer,  down  at  Judge 
Elmore's,  and  he  makes  him  study  every  night.  Do  you 
know  Judge  Elmore?" 

"Yes." 

' '  Well,  he's  an  awful  good  man.  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"Yes,  Birdie,  he  is  a  good  man,  and  I  am  glad  that 
your  brother  Veary  has  fallen  into  his  hands ;  but  I  expect 
you  had  better  run  along  home  or  your  granny  will  whip 
you  again,  poor  child." 

"  But  I  haven't  got  any  money  yet." 

"Well,  here  is  some  money,"  said  he,  slipping  some 
money  in  her  hand.  "Now  I  want  you  to  come  to  my 
office  to-morrow  morning  at  ten  o'clock,  and  I  promise 
you  that  you  shall  not  beg  any  more." 

"Are  you  going  to  tell  buddy  Veary  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  shall  go  around  to  Judge  Elmore's  office  and 
see  Veary  Carlisle,  and  will  have  him  here  when  you 


IO6  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

come,  that  he  may  see  with  his  own  eyes  his  little  beggar 
sister.  And  then,"  said  he,  bending  low  and  whispering 
in  her  ear,  "  I  am  going  to  ask  him  to  let  you  be  my  little 
girl,  and  if  he  will,  why  I  am  going  to  adopt  you,  and  take 
you  home  with  me,  and  there  you  will  be  queen  of  my 
house,  and  you  won't  have  any  granny  to  beat  you  then. 
And  your  brother  can  come  every  night  if  he  wants  to. 
Do  you  want  to  be  my  little  girl?  " 

She  did  not  speak,  but  caught  his  hand  and  laid  her 
cheek  upon  it,  and  her  lips  trembled  and  presently  she 
burst  out  weeping,  and  she  wept  as  though  her  little  heart 
was  breaking. 

The  doctor  was  surprised  at  her  emotion.  He  expected 
that  she  would  rejoice.  She  did  rejoice,  but  not  in  the 
way  he  had  expected.  He  had  never  seen  a  child  weep 
for  joy,  though  he  had  often  seen  grown  people  do  so. 

"Well,  well,"  said  he,  "I  didn't  think  you  would  cry 
because  I  wanted  you  to  be  my  little  girl.  Very  well,  if 
you  don't  want  to,  I  won't  have  you  then." 

"  O,  do,  Mr.  Doctor,  let  me  go  and  be  your  little  girl. 
I  won't  cry  any  more.  I  could  not  help  from  crying,  I 
was  so  glad.  You  aren't  made  with  Birdie  now,  are  you  ?  " 

"No,  my  poor  child,  I  am  not  mad  with  you;  I  love 
you  too  well  for  that ;  I  didn't  know  you  were  cry- 
ing for  joy,  I  thought  you  were  crying  because  you 
did  not  want  to  go  home  with  me.  Now,  here  is 
some  more  money,  and  you  must  run  along  home.  I  will 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  IO/ 

have  to  go  out  to  see  some  patients."  And  he  kissed  her 
and  she  hastened  away,  tnrowing  a  kiss  at  him  as  she  van- 
ished through  the  door. 

"I  will  go  and  see  Veary  Carlisle  early  in  the  morn- 
ing," said  the  doctor,  as  he  put  on  his  gloves.  "  He  must 
know  it.  And  if  he  will  let  me  have  her,  which  I  have 
no  doubt  but  he  will  (for  Veary  is  a  sensible  boy),  she 
shall  be  all  that  money  and  influence  can  make  her.  It  is 
strange  that  I  should  take  to  that  child  so.  I  love  her  now 
as  tenderly  as  if  she  were  my  own." 

"O,  is  not  that  a  nice,  pretty  doll?"  said  Birdie,  gazing- 
in  at  the  window  of  a  large  toy  establishment.  "  O,  it  is 
so  pretty,  I  wish  I  had  one.  Say,  mister,  what  will  you 
let  me  have  one  of  these  dolls  for?" 

"  Well,  it  depends  upon  what  kind  you  want,"  said  the 
clerk,  and  he  took  her  in,  smiling  all  the  while  at  the  little 
bundle  of  rags.  "Here  is  one,"  said  he,  "that  has  been 
cracked.  I  will  give  it  to  you  ;  now  take  it  and  run  along 
and  you  must  not  trouble  us  any  more,  the  boss  won't 
like  it." 

She  took  her  doll  and  started  for  home,  and  a  happier 
heart  never  beat  in  the  bosom  of  any  child,  for  it  was  the 
first  doll  she  had  ever  had  with  real  hair  and  blue  eyes. 

She  had  not  gone  far  when  she  spied  a  gentleman  with 
a  traveling  bag  advancing  toward  her. 

"  Now,  if  he  will  let  me  carry  his  satchel  for  him,  I  will 


IO8  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

make  some  more  money.  Buddy  Veary  used  to  make 
lots  of  money  carrying  gentlemen's  satchels,"  said  she  to 
herself. 

"Say,  Mr.  Gentleman,  let  me  carry  your  satchel.  I 
am  strong." 

"You  carry  my  satchel,"  said  the  man,  indignantly; 
"you  look  more  fit  for  the  paper-mill.  Clear  out."  He 
gave  her  a  push  and  she  fell  into  the  gutter. 

"You  bad,  ugly  man,  you,"  said  she,  crying  and  look- 
ing heart-broken  at  her  doll  now  covered  with  mud. 

"That  was  a  cowardly  trick,  sir,"  said  Dr.  St.  George, 
as  he  picked  her  up  out  of  the  gutter.  He  was  passing 
just  in  time  to  see  Fen  Scullcutter's  brutal,  cowardly  act. 

"What  did  you  do  that  he  should  knock  you  in  the 
gutter?"  said  the  kind  doctor. 

"Nothing,"  said  little  Birdie,  choking  back  a  sob,  and 
wiping  the  mud  from  her  doll.  . 

"You  must  have  said  something,  surely." 

' '  I  only  asked  him  to  let  me  carry  his  satchel,  that's 
all." 

"Well,  you  must  not  ask  gentlemen  to  carry  their 
satchels  any  more." 

"  He  ain't  no  gentleman,  or  he  would  not  throw  a  little 
girl  in  the  gutter." 

"No,  he  is  no  gentleman,  it  is  true;  but  you  must 
never  do  the  like  again.  Little  girls  must  not  carry 
gentlemen's  traveling  bags.  That  is  boy's  work." 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  1 09 

'•  Well,  I  wish  that  I  was  a  boy,  then." 

' '  What  do  you  want  to  be  a  boy  for  ?  What  would 
you  do  if  you  were  a  boy  ?  " 

"  Why,  I'd  make  lots  of  money." 

"  It  is  not  every  boy  that  makes  money,"  said  the  doc- 
tor. "  But  you  must  go  home  now.  If  you  don't,  you  will 
displease  me.  Now  run  along,  child,  or  you  will  freeze." 

Poor  little  Birdie  made  her  way  toward  home.  Now 
and  then  she  would  look  at  her  doll,  all  soiled  with  mud, 
and  the  tears  would  come  into  her  eyes. 

"  Ha!  O!  little  Rag-tag,"  said  a  voice  right  in  her  ear, 
"  what  have  you  got  there  ?  " 

"  I've  got  nothing  but  my  doll,"  said  Birdie,  "  and  you 
go  away  and  leave  me  alone." 

The  urchin  gave  a  nod  at  his  companion,  who  grabbed 
the  doll  and  tossed  it  up  several  times  and  let  it  fall  to  the 
ground,  and  then  tied  a  string  around  its  neck  and  whirled 
it  round  and  round,  while  poor  little  Birdie  was  screaming 
as  loud  as  her  vocal  chords  would  permit  her,  "Give  me 
my  doll ;  don't  break  it ;  please  don't !  " 

"  Do  you  want  it  very  bad,  little  Rag- tag?  "  said  one. 

"  Yes,  I  do,  it  is  mine.      Please  let  me  have  my  doll." 

"  Well,  if  you  will  give  us  both  a  kiss,  we  will  let  you 
have  it.  What  says  you  ?  " 

"I  shan't,  I  won't,  you  mean,  ugly,  old  boys,  you," 
said  she,  trying  to  get  away  from  them,  for  they  had  hold 
of  her  hands  and  were  trying  to  kiss  her. 


I  IO  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

Presently  they  screamed  and  ran  away,  rubbing  their 
shoulders  and  looking  back  every  step ;  and  I  guess  it  was 
the  last  time  they  were  ever  caught  trying  to  kiss  a  girl 
on  the  highway. 

"  Never  mind,  Birdie,"  said  a  gentle  voice  behind  her  ; 
' '  I  would  not  cry  any  more.  I  paid  those  bad  boys  for  their 
rudeness;  I  came  near  cutting  them  in  two  with  my  whip." 

It  was  Dr.  St.  George  who  spoke.  He  had -started  to 
see  a  patient,  and  happened  to  come  along  just  in  time  to 
rescue  her  from  the  claws  of  those  bad  boys  who  took  a 
delight  in  teasing  every  little  girl  that  passed  them. 

"  Now  jump  up  in  my  buggy  and  tell  me  which  way, 
and  I  will  take  you  home." 

"Is  that  old  woman  standing  in  the  door  your  granny?  " 
said  the  doctor,  as  he  helped  Birdie  out  of  the  buggy. 

"Yes,  that  is  granny,"  said  she,  shuddering,  "and  I 
believe  she  has  been  taking  some  more  of  that  bad  medi- 
cine, for  she  is  awful  shaky." 

"I  know  that  old  woman,"  said  the  doctor,  "and  she 
is  one  of  the  grandest  old  hags  in  the  world.  She  has 
been  a  professional  beggar  for  years.  I  had  lost  sight  of 
her,  and  did  not  know  where  she  had  gone  to.  How  on 
earth  your  brother  happened  to  get  her  I  can  not  tell." 

"What  fine  gentleman  was  that  you  were  riding  with?" 
said  the  old  woman,  as  Birdie  came  up  the  steps  of  the 
cottage. 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  I  I  I 

"It  was  Mr.  Doctor,"  said  Birdie,  shaking  from  head  to 
foot. 

"What  were  you  riding  with  him  for?  and  what  was  he 
saying  to  you  ?  " 

Birdie  had  never  told  a  lie,  and  she  did  not  know  how 
to  commence  one ;  and  she  stood  looking  at  the  old  hag 
without  speaking. 

"  Don't  you  hear  me,"  said  the  old  woman,  stamping 
her  feet.  ' '  I  say,  what  was  he  saying  to  you  ?  Now  if  you 
don't  tell  me  I  will  kill  you;  "  and  she  took  Birdie  by  the 
hand  and  jerked  her  into  the  room,  and  she  fell  headlong 
upon  the  floor. 

"  Now  will  you  tell?  "  said  she,  at  the  same  time  giving 
her  a  slap. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  granny,"  said  Birdie,  choking  back  a 
sob,  and  rubbing  her  arm,  which  was  almost  jerked  out  of 
place. 

"Tell  it,  then." 

"  He  said  you  were  a  mean  old  hag." 

"What  else?" 

"And  he  said  that  you  was  a  profistical  beggar,  that's 
all." 

"And  you  have  been  talking  to  him  about  me,  have 
you ;  I  suppose  he  will  go  to  Veary  Carlisle  and  tell  him 
what  you  were  doing." 

"He  gave  me  some  money,"  said  Birdie,  thinking  it 
would  tone  her  down  to  see  some  of  the  shining  ore. 


112  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

"Where  is  it?" 

Birdie  took  the  money  out  of  her  bosom  and  gave  it  to 
her,  saying,  "  That  good  Mr.  Doctor  gave  it  all  to  me." 

"Good  Mr.  Doctor,"  said  she,  mockingly;  "I  will 
make  you  smart  for  this  day's  work.  You  shall  not  have 
one  mouthful  to  eat  this  day.  What  is  that  you've  got 
under  your  arm?"  she  continued,  snatching  the  little  bundle 
of  dirty  paper  from  her. 

"It  is  nothing  but  my  doll.  Please  let  me  have  it, 
granny,"  said  she,  sobbing. 

"  How  dare  you  take  the  money  and  buy  dolls  with  it, 
you  little  witch,  you  !  " 

"  I  did  not  give  money  for  it,"  said  Birdie,  "  it  was  a 
good  gentleman  who  gave  it  to  me." 

"  Instead  of  you  begging  money,  you  were  out  all  day 
begging  dolls.  Now,  take  that,  and  that,"  said  she,  boxing 
her  poor  little  ears ;  but  she  did  not  feel  it  much,  for  they 
were  frozen  stiff.  "  Now,  take  yourself  to  the  garret,"  she 
continued,  "  and  stay  there  until  I  call  you." 

Poor  little  Birdie  crept  up  to  the  dark  garret,  cold  and 
hungry,  and  there  huddled  down  upon  some  straw  and 
wrapped  herself  up  in  an  old  blanket,  and  cried  herself  to 
sleep ;  and  was  soon  dreaming  of  the  good  doctor  who  had 
been  so  kind  to  her.  He  came  for  and  took  her  away  from 
the  old,  woman  who  had  been  so  cruel,  and  took  her  to 
his  own  beautiful  home — a  perfect  paradise,  and  she  was 
so  happy.  Presently  a  shrill  voice  pierced  her  ear,  and  she 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  113 

awoke  cold  and  hungry,  and  found  herself  in  the  dark, 
dreary  garret,  and  the  shrill,  sharp  voice  of  her  tormentor 
still  ringing  in  her  ears.  What  a  contrast  to  that  beautiful 
home  in  dreamland. 

"  Go  out  and  pick  up  some  chips,"  said  the  woman,  as 
Birdie  came  down  benumbed  with  cold  and  faint  with 
hunger. 

Birdie  went  out  and  very  soon  returned  with  a  lapful  of 
chips. 

"  Put  it  down  and  bring  more,  and  don't  you  stop  until 
you  get  enough  to  last,"  said  she;  and  again  she  laid  her 
head  back  and  commenced  nodding. 

Again  and  again  Birdie  returned  with  her  lap  full  of 
chips ;  it  was  all  they  had  to  burn,  for  the  money  that 
Veary  had  given  her  to  buy  coal  had  been  spent  for  whisky, 
and  it  all  had  gone  down  the  old  woman's  throat. 

Veary  only  went  home  twice  a  week,  as  he  lived  so  far 
from  the  office,  and  Judge  Elmore  requested  him  to  remain 
at  his  house,  that  he  might  assist  him  with  his  studies 
through  the  long  winter  nights.  So  Veary  consented  to 
his  proposal,  not  for  his  own  special  benefit  alone,  but  to 
gratify  the  desire  of  his  only  true  friend  and  benefactor, 
and  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  obey  him  as  he  would  a  father ; 
for  he  had  been  to  him  more  than  his  father  ever  had  ;  but 
he  never  forgot  his  little  adopted  sister,  no,  never ;  and 
he  always  left  money  with  granny  to  buy  such  things  as 
she  needed,  and  which  Birdie  never  received. 


I  14  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD   WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Birdie  ?  "  said  a  low  voice  close  to 
where  she  was  crouched  upon  the  ground,  with  her  hands 
rolled  in  her  apron.  She  had  picked  up  chips  until  her 
hands  were  nearly  frozen,  and  she  could  no  longer  keep 
back  the  tears,  in  spite  of  all  her  granny's  threats.  Birdie 
looked  around  and  spied  a  pair  of  eyes  shining  through  the 
crack  of  the  fence. 

"Is  that  you,  Jack?" 

"Yes,  Birdie,  it  is  me,"  said  the  little  crippled  boy. 
' '  What  is  the  matter  ?  Has  that  old  woman  been  beating 
you  again  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Jack,  and  I  am  so  cold  and  hungry." 

"  Poor  little  Birdie,"  said  Jack,  with  a  tear  coming  into 
his  honest  eyes ;  "  here  is  a  potato,  eat  it ;  it  will  keep  you 
from  being  so  hungry." 

Birdie  took  the  potato  and  soon  devoured  it;  for  she 
had  not  eaten  anything  all  day  but  a  piece  of  stale  bread 
and  some  black  molasses. 

"Birdie,"  said  Jack,  "why  don't  you  run  away  and 
leave  that  mean  old  woman  ?  I  would  not  let  her  beat  me 
any  more." 

"Where  must  I  go,  Jack?" 

"Why,  go  to  your  buddy  Veary,  and  tell  him  how  she 
treats  you.  and  he  will  run  her  off." 

"She  will  kill  me,  Jack,  if  I  do.'' 

"No,  indeed,  she  won't.  She  only  tells  you  that  to 
scare  you." 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  115 

"  O,  Jack,"  said  she,  clapping  her  hands  together, 
"I've  dot  something  to  tell  you.  You  know  that  good 
Mr.  Doctor,  they  call  St.  George?" 

"Yes." 

' '  Well,  he  said  that  he  is  going  to  come  and  take  me 
away  from  granny,  and  let  me  be  his  own  little  girl,  and 
have  a  big,  fine  house  all  to  myself,  and  that  I  shall  not  beg 
anymore.  Won't  that  be  grand?" 

"I  am  so  glad,"  said  Jack.  "When  is  he  going  to 
take  you  ?  I  hope  it  won't  be  long  first." 

"Just  as  soon  as  he  ean  see  buddy  Veary — to-morrow, 
I  'spect." 

Poor  little  Birdie  had  unconsciously  spoken  these  words 
in  an  audible  whisper,  all  unaware  that  through  the  key- 
hole a  sharp  eye  was  watching,  and  a  quick  ear  caught  her 
every  whispered  word. 

"Ah,  my  young  one,"  said  the  old  woman,  with  a 
chuckle,  "  your  plans  will  be  frustrated  for  once.  You  will 
never  see  Veary  Carlisle  or  Dr.  St.  George  again,  I  will 
bet  my  life  on  that.  This  night  I  will  set  fire  to  the  house, 
after  selling  everything,  and  Veary  will  think  that  both 
Birdie  and  I  are  burnt  up  in  it,  Then  I  will  take  her  and 
go  to  New  Orleans,  where  I  will  buy  an  organ,  and  she 
shall  support  me  by  begging  on  the  streets.  I  suppose  I 
will  have  some  trouble  in  getting  her  off  with  me ;  but  never 
mind,  I'll  fix  her.  I  will  tell  her  that  Veary  is  dead,  and 
that  she  will  have  to  go  with  me  or  she  will  be  left  alone  in 


Il6  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

this  old  house  to  starve  ;  and  that  she  will  see  ghosts  every 
night,  with  long,  bony  fingers  and  red  eyes ;  and  then  she 
will  be  glad  enough  to  go.  I  know  this  would  be  the  last 
night  that  I  would  remain  in  this  house  if  Veary  Carlisle 
was  to  find  out  all — which  he  will — for  I  heard  her  say  that 
Dr.  St.  George  was  to  go  to  see  him  to-morrow ;  and  he 
will  do  it,  for  he  is  a  man  of  his  word.  And  then !  and 
then  I  am  ruined !  I  will  have  to  starve  in  my  old  age ; 
and  to  do  without  my  liquor  would  be  almost  sudden  death, 
and  that  I  must  have  !  I  must  have !  " 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  BIRD  HAS  FLOWN  FROM    ITS  THORNY  NEST,  OR  A  NARROW 

ESCAPE. 

"  Sit  down,  child,  and  warm  your  ringers,"  said  Granny 
Nailar,  as  Birdie  came  into  the  room  with  the  fifth  lapful 
of  chips,  which  were  covered  with  snow  and  ice.  Her  face 
and  hands  were  purple  with  cold,  and  the  tears  that  trickled 
down  her  cheeks  were  freezing  on  their  downward  course, 
and  making  crystal  paths  through  the  coal-dust  and  smut. 

"Birdie,"  she  continued,  "  I  have  something  very  sad 
to  tell  you,  and  you  must  not  take  it  hard,  child ;  you 
know  we  all  have  trouble,  and  I  feel  just  as  bad  about  it  as 
you  do." 

"To  tell  me,  granny?"  said  little  Birdie,  looking  up  in 
surprise,  and  wondering  what  had  come  over  the  old  hag. 

"  Yes,  to  tell  you,  child,  for  you  are  the  one  to  know  it, 
that  you  may  make  up  your  mind  to  what  course  to  take ; 
as  far  as  mine  is  concerned,  it  is  already  made  up.  I  shall 
leave  this  place  to-night." 

"  You  going  to  leave,  granny?" 

' '  Yes,  going  to  leave,  for  your  brother  Veary  is  dead, 
and  if  we  stay  here  we  will  starve  ;  and  I  am  afraid  to  stay 


Il8  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

here  any  way,  for  I  saw  a  ghost  last  night  standing  right 
in  that  corner,  and  I  was  frightened  almost  to  death." 

"O!  granny!  is  my  poor  buddy  Veary  dead?"  said 
Birdie,  clasping  her  little  hands  together,  while  her  lips  trem- 
bled like  an  aspen  leaf. 

"Yes,  he  is  dead,"  said  the  old  fiend,  pretending  to 
wipe  a  tear  from  her  eyes. 

"How  come  him  dead?"  said  Birdie,  with  her  hands 
still  clasped  in  each  other,  and  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  face 
of  her  would-be  destroyer. 

"Why,  he  got  drowned  in  the  river  this  morning, 
while  trying  to  save  some  little  children  from  drowning," 
and  she  put  up  her  hands  again,  as  if  wiping  a  tear  from 
her  eyes. 

"Will  I  never  see  him  no  more,  granny?  Will  he 
never  come  back  to  Birdie  again  ?  " 

"No,  child,  he  will  never  come  back  again.  Your 
poor  brother  is  dead  and  gone ;  his  dear  body  is  now  lying 
beneath  the  deep,  dark  waters  of  the  Ohio,  and  you  are 
now  my  little  girl.  No  hand  can  take  you  from  me." 

"  O !  granny !  "  said  she,  locking  her  little  hands  at  the 
back  of  her  head,  and  writhing  in  agony;  "let  me  go  to 
my  buddy  Veary ;  let  me  go  and  speak  to  him,  and  then 
he  won't  be  dead.  I  know  he  won't,  granny,  because  he 
loves  Birdie  so.  I  will  put  my  arms  around  him,  and  kiss 
him,  and  then  he  will  live  again.  Can  I  go,  granny,  can 
I  go?" 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  IIQ 

"No,  you  can  not  go,  child.  Now  listen  to  me;  your 
brother  is  cold  and  dead,  and  is  lying  at  the  bottom  of 
yonder  river;  and  he  will  never  live  again." 

"But  if  I  call  him,  he  will  hear  his  little  Birdie  and 
come  to  her;  I  know  he  will,  granny,  I  know  he  will," 
cried  the  grief-stricken  child,  trying  to  choke  back  her 
grief,  for  it  swelled  up  in  her  throat  and  seemed  as  if  it 
would  burst  her  very  heart-strings  asunder.  Could  she 
have  poured  out  her  grief  in  a  flood  of  tears;  could  she 
have  laid  her  little  head  upon  some  friendly  breast  and 
wept  out  those  scalding  tears  that  blistered  and  burned, 
and  yet  dared  not  find  egress,  it  would  have  relieved  her 
aching  heart.  But  she  was  afraid  to  cry,  for  she  had 
never  been  permitted  the  blessed  privilege  of  crying  like 
other  children,  when  her  little  heart  was  well-nigh  broken  ; 
and  she  felt  to-night  that  she  would  not  be  granted  that 
blessed  privilege,  as  she  had  not  been  heretofore — not 
since  the  last  time  she  laid  her  head  upon  her  mother's 
knee  and  wept  herself  to  sleep.  She  stood  for  some  mo- 
ments with  her  hands  clasped  over  the  top  of  her  head, 
swaying  to  and  fro.  Her  eyes  had  a  strange,  wild  look 
in  them,  and  her  face  was  purple,  while  her  lips  were  of  an 
ashy  hue,  and  trembled  violently. 

It  would  seem  impossible  that  a  child  of  her  age  should 
suffer  such  excruciating  grief,  such  unutterable  anguish 
without  a  wail.  Finally,  she  could  bear  it  no  longer;  she 
gave  one  agonizing  scream,  and  then,  as  if  she  expected  to 


I2O  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

be  felled  to  the  floor,  she  threw  up  her  hands  and  ex- 
claimed, "O!  granny.  I  could  not  help  it,  please  let  me 
cry.  I  will  go  out  of  doors  so  you  can't  hear  me;  may  I, 
granny?" 

The  she-devil,  fearing  that  the  child  would  lose  her 
reason,  hastened  to  her  and  said,  "Yes,  child,  cry  if  you 
want  to,  I  won't  stop  you  from  crying  this  time,  because 
your  brother  is  dead ;  and  everybody  cries  at  such  a  time, 
and  I  can't  help  from  crying  myself,"  and  she  put  up  her 
handkerchief  to  her  face  and  pretended  to  wipe  the  tears 
from  her  eyes.  With  this  permission,  nature  took  its 
course,  and  the  poor  child  wept  out  her  grief,  alone,  with 
no  tender  hand  to  wipe  the  tear,  nor  a  gentle  voice  to  whis- 
per a  word  of  comfort  to  her  young,  sorrowing  heart.  Her 
little  white  kitten  sat  mewing  by  her  side ;  now  and  then 
it  would  rise  up  on  its  hind  feet,  and  rub  its  soft,  white 
head  against  her  wet  cheeks  and  lick  her  tear-stained 
hands. 

"There,  now,  go  to  bed,  young  one,  and  try  to  get  a 
little  sleep,  for  we  will  have  to  be  at  the  boat  at  seven  in 
the  morning,  and  if  you  don't  go  to  sleep  you  won't  feel 
like  getting  up." 

"Where  am  we  going,  granny?  Am  I  going  to  that 
good  Mr.  Doctor,  who  said  I  should  go  home  to  his  house 
and  be  his  little  girl?" 

"No,  you  are  not  going  to  no  good  Mr.  Doctor's,  as 
you  call  him.  He  don't  want  you ;  he  has  found  his  own 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  121 

little  girl,  and  she  is  as  much  as  he  can  take  care  of.  You 
are  going  with  me  to  a  big,  fine  city,  just  like  this  one,  and 
then  we  will  make  a  plenty  of  money.  I  am  going  to  buy 
you  an  organ,  and  you  won't  have  anything  to  do  but  to 
sit  on  the  streets  and  play,  and  then  take  around  your  cup, 
which  will  be  a  big,  red  one,  with  big,  black  letters  on  it, 
and  will  read  this  way:  'Help  the  little  blind  girl.' ' 

"Will  I  be  blind,  granny?"  said  Birdie,  sobbing. 

"You  will  be  if  you  don't  quit  crying.  I've  heard  of 
little  girls  going  blind  from  crying,"  she  replied. 

"  Well,  I  won't  cry  any  more,  then  ;  'cause  I  don't  want 
to  be  blind.  I  want  to  see  buddy  Veary  when  I  goes  to 
heaven." 

"What  if  I  did  have  a  little  blind  girl,"  said  the  old 
fiend,  nervously.  "  Why  she  would  be  a  fortune  to  me! 
She  would  arouse  the  sympathies  of  the  public,  and  they 
would  bestow  their  charity  in  abundance.  Could  I  fix  her 
so  she  could  not  see  ?  Yes  ;  and  I  will  this  very  night.  It 
will  help  to  get  me  through  to  New  Orleans.  The  passen- 
gers on  the  boat  will  throw  in  to  her,  and  by  these  means 
I  can  work  my  way  through." 

"You  can  sleep  down  here  with  me  to-night,"  said  she 
to  Birdie,  who  had  arisen  and  was  creeping  up  the  garret 
steps  trembling  with  cold. 

This  was  not  welcome  news  to  poor,  little  Birdie,  for  she 
preferred  being  alone  in  the  cold,  dark  garret  to  sleeping  in 
the  same  room  with  her.  So  she  insisted  that  she  should 


122  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

sleep  in  the  garret,  to  which  granny  consented,  and  the  little 
cast-away  crept  up  in  the  loft  and  laid  herself  down  upon 
her  little,  straw  bed — not  to  sleep,  but  to  plan  how  she  should 
escape  the  old  woman,  and  not  go  to  New  Orleans.  "  I 
wish  I  could  see  Jack  to-night,"  said  she,  "I  know  he 
would  take  me  where  buddy  Veary  is,  and  then  I  would 
make  him  live  again  ;  and  then  I  would  not  have  to  go  with 
granny.  O,  I  can  not  go  !  1  can  not  go  if  she  kills  me  !  I 
will  run  away  this  night,  and  she  shall  never  find  me.  ' 

With  this  resolution  she  arose  and  went  to  the  window 
and  looked  out  upon  the  snow-laden  ground,  and  she 
shuddered  with  cold  and  fear  as  she  looked  with  a  longing 
eye  toward  the  river  that  held  her  only  treasure  on  earth. 
What  was  she  to  do  without  him?  Should  she  always 
spend  her  days  with  that  mean,  old  woman?  Was  she  to 
be  made  a  beggar,  and  sit  upon  the  streets  to  grind  an  or- 
gan to  get  money  for  the  old  woman  to  buy  whisky  with, 
and  never  go  to  school  nor  to  church  like  other  little  girls? 
Buddy  Veary  had  promised  to  send  her  to  school  the  next 
session,  and  she  was  so  delighted  ;  and  now  she  was  never 
to  see  inside  of  a  school -house,  or  to  go  to  church  again. 

With  these  thoughts  burning  in  her  breast,  she  made 
her  way  down  stairs ;  and  when  she  reached  the  bottom 
she  trembled  for  fear  the  old  woman  would  awake  and  dis- 
cover her ;  but  to  her  delight  and  astonishment  no  one  was 
in  the  house,  and  everything  had  been  packed  up  and 
taken  away  to  the  second-hand  store  to  sell,  even  Birdie's 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  123 

best  dresses;  and  the  bed  upon  which  the  old  woman  slept 
had  been  taken  away,  and  a  pile  of  straw  lay  in  its  stead. 

"She  is  all  packed  up,"  said  Birdie  to  herself,  "and 
she  will  take  me  away  just  as  soon  as  day  comes,  and  I 
will  never  see  my  buddy  Veary  again,  nor  that  good  Mr. 
Doctor,  nor  Jack." 

She  opened  the  door  and  looked  out.  A  chill  crept 
over  her,  and  her  teeth  chattered  together,  for  the  wind 
was  cold  and  piercing,  and  howled  dismally  as  it  swept 
along,  carrying  with  it  sheets  of  drifting  snow. 

"  I  will  go  now,"  said  she ;  "I  will  go  and  find  buddy 
Veary  this  very  night."  And  she  turned  and  looked  her 
last  upon  the  dark,  cold,  dreary  room,  where  she  had  known 
nothing  but  want  and  suffering  and  sorrow;  and  to-night 
it  looked  more  dismal  to  her  than  the  white-robed  trees 
and  snow-laden  earth  over  which  she  would  have  to  travel; 
and  the  winds  whistling  around  the  corners  and  rattling  the 
windows  sounded  more  hideous  than  the  tales  of  the 
Arabian  Nights.  The  winding  waters  murmured  in 
tranquil  measure  on  their  way,  and  the  star  of  Bethlehem 
shone  down  in  holy,  solemn  peace,  for  it  was  Christmas 
eve,  and  Santa  Claus  was  going  from  house  to  house, 
making  joyous  hearts  and  smiling  faces.  But,  alas !  no 
Santa  Claus  came  to  make  glad  the  heart  of  this  lonely 
little  pedestrian.  There  were  no  little  stockings  hanging 
by  the  fire  place,  and  no  bright  eyes  were  peeping  from 
beneath  the  coverlet  to  see  him  come  down  the  chimney. 


124  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

As  Birdie  stood  upon  the  lonely  doorsteps,  she  thought 
of  the  thousands  of  little  hearts  that  would  be  made  happy 
in  the  morning ;  but  she  did  not  envy  them,  and  only  said 
with  a  smile,  "  I  know  if  buddy  Veary  was  here  old  Santa 
Claus  would  bring  Birdie  something,  too."  Then  she 
thought  of  her  doll  that  she  had  left  in  the  garret,  and  she 
felt  that  she  had  left  a  part  of  herself,  so  she  hastened  to 
get  it,  and  before  she  reached  the  door  again,  she  heard 
the  unsteady  footsteps  of  the  old  woman  tramping  up  the 
steps.  Lucky  for  Birdie  that  the  fire  had  died  out,  and 
the  candle  had  expired,  and  there  was  no  light  in  the 
room,  for  she  crouched  down  by  the  door,  and  Granny 
Nailar  passed  her  as  she  came  in  and  made  her  way  to  a 
little  brown  jug  that  was  sitting  in  the  corner  of  the  room, 
and  which  had  been  her  companion  for  years. 

Birdie  snatched  her  opportunity,  and  as  the  old  woman 
turned  the  jug  to  her  lips  she  opened  the  door,  and  in 
another  moment  she  was  speeding  like  a  wild  deer  through 
the  streets,  with  the  snow  flying  into  her  face,  and  filling 
up  her  tracks  as  fast  as  she  made  them.  Upon  her  lips 
was  a  smile  of  joy  sweeter  than  lies  in  words.  There  was 
a  light  in  her  deep,  spiritual  eyes  that  had  never  been 
there  before ;  and  her  thoughts  were  sweeter  than  any 
poet's  song  or  romancist's  story  could  have  told  her.  She 
was  free  as  a  wild  bird  in  the  forest.  She  would  go  and 
find  her  brother,  and  she  knew  when  she  put  her  arms 
around  his  neck  and  called  him,  he  would  answer  her,  and 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  125 

he  would  live  again  ;  and  they  would  go  together  to  the 
good  doctor  who  had  been  so  kind  to  her,  and  who  had 
promised  to  take  her  for  his  own  little  girl,  and  there  they 
would  be  happy,  and  granny  would  not  be  there  to  beat 
her  and  make  her  beg.  Finally  she  reached  the  river,  and 
for  hours  she  walked  up  and  down  its  banks  crying,  and 
moaning  pitifully  as  she  cried  aloud,  "  O,  my  buddy 
Veary,  come  to  me,  come  to  your  Birdie,  and  then  you 
won't  be  dead.  O,  come  to  me  now  ;  I  ain't  got  no  home, 
nobody  to  love  me.  I  will  always  be  a  good  girl." 

But  Veary  Carlisle  did  not  hear  his  little  sister;  he  was 
fast  asleep,  and  dreaming  of  a  little  girl  crossing  a  dark 
and  turbulent  river,  and  he  was  endeavoring  to  save  her 
from  falling  into  the  water. 

As  Birdie  stood  cold  and  trembling  upon  the  banks  of 
the  Ohio,  on  that  dark  and  dreary  night,  little  did  she 
know  what  a  terrible  fate  she  had  escaped. 

As  the  poisonous  snake  steals  dark  and  noiselessly 
through  the  gentle  night,  where  none  beholds  its  pestilen- 
tial trail,  Granny  Nailar  stole  up  the  dark  stairway,  while, 
like  the  death  hiss  of  the  snake  gliding  to  destroy,  the 
whisper  hissed  from  her  set  lips,  ' '  You  shall  never  behold 
the  light  of  another  day !  Veary  Carlisle  shall  never  see 
you  again !  never !  never !  for  when  you  are  blind  you  can 
not  leave  me,  and  you  can  beg  enough  to  support  us  both ; 
besides,  I  can  always  have  my  dram." 


126  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

She  went  up  to  the  pile  of  straw  where  Birdie  had  been 
lying,  and  put  her  fingers  in  the  cup  and  took  out  a  portion 
of  the  pulverized  glass,  which  she  had  prepared  to  put  in 
little  Birdie's  eyes,  and  set  the  cup  down  carefully  that  she 
might  not  disturb  the  sleeper,  for  Birdie  was  sleeping 
soundly,  she  thought.  It  seemed  that  she  could  hear  her 
loud  breathing,  as  she  stealthily  laid  her  hand  upon  the 
cover  and  found  only  the  sleeping  cat — Birdie's  little  white 
cat,  which  had  been  her  bedfellow  from  its  kittenhood. 

The  old  woman  hissed  a  curse  as  she  gathered  the 
sleeping  cat  by  the  neck  and  threw  it  down  the  steps.  She 
was  foiled  in  her  devilish  plan,  for  the  bird  had  flown  from 
its  thorny  nest,  and  the  hawk  was  cheated  of  its  prey.  She 
called  loudly  to  her,  but  no  sound  stirred  the  silence,  save 
the  hollow  echoes  of  her  own  hideous  voice.  ' '  Where  are 
you,  Birdie?  Come  to  me  this  minute,  do  you  hear? 
Birdie!  Birdie!" 

"Curse  her!  "  she  hissed,  as  she  descended  the  dark 
stairway.  "She  has  run  away,  and  if  I  ever  find  her  I  will 
pay  her  up.  Ah,  my  lady,"  said  she,  turning  up  the  jug, 
her  only  comforter,  "  if  I  ever  get  my  hands  on  you,  you 
will  never  have  the  opportunity  of  running  off  again.  She 
has  gone  up  to  Jack's  mother's,  I  expect;  for  I  heard  him 
tell  her  to  come  to  him  and  he  would  take  her  to  Veary 
Carlisle,  and  I  must  be  up  early  in  the  morning  and  go 
after  her,  the  little  witch ;  and  I  will  give  that  Jack  Ham- 
bleton  a  sound  beating  the  first  time  I  catch  him  off." 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  I2/ 

With  this  she  rolled  herself  in  an  old  blanket  and  stretched 
herself  before  the  fire,  for  she  had  nothing  to  sleep  on,  as 
she  had  sold  her  bed. 

It  was  one  o'clock  when  the  fire  alarm  was  sounded 
from  box — .  The  fire  company  arrived  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble, but  too  late.  It  was  a  great  distance  out,  and  before 
they  reached  the  spot,  the  cottage  that  held  the  form  of 
Granny  Nailar  was  melting  into  coals,  and  the  white  bones 
of  the  drunken  beast  lay  bleached  and  crisp,  but  her  little 
brown  jug  remained  at  her  side,  and  seemed  to  smile  down 
upon  her  hideous  form  and  whisper,  "Not  drunk,  but 
dead."  Retribution  had  come  at  last.  "Vengeance  is 
mine,"  saith  the  Lord. 


CHAPTER  XL 

VEARY  CARLISLE  MOURNS  OVER  THE  LOSS  OF  HIS  LITTLE 
BIRDIE. 

It  was  twelve  o'clock  on  the  night  of  Birdie's  escape 
from  the  cottage  when  Veary  retired  with  a  wearied  brain  to 
his  couch.  He  had  studied  very  hard  that  night,  unusu- 
ally hard,  for  the  rapid  progress  he  was  making  with  his 
studies  pleased  the  old  judge,  and  he  did  not  hesitate  to 
tell  him  so ;  for  he  slapped  him  on  the  shoulder  that  same 
morning,  saying,  "I  hope  I  shall  be  proud  of  you  one 
day,  my  boy,  for  I  see  you  have  no  ordinary  mind,  and  if 
you  will  apply  yourself  and  make  the  best  use  of  your 
time,  you  will  one  day  be  an  honor  to  your  profession.  I 
am  now  going  to  give  you  an  opportunity  of  showing  what 
kind  of  grit  you  are  made  of.  I  have  hired  an  office 
boy,  and  you  no  longer  hold  that  position,  but  will  go  up 
to  my  study  and  prepare  yourself  for  college  ;  for  I  expect 
to  send  you  to  the  law  school  in  Philadelphia  next  session, 
where  you  will  remain  until  you  graduate." 

Veary  Carlisle's  eyes  opened  wide,  and  his  lips  sprang 
apart,  while  his  heart  beat  rapidly.  He  arose  from  his  seat 
trembling  with  joy  and  excitement,  and  with  a  glad  light 

(128) 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  I  29 

blazing  in  his  eyes ;  a  light  that  reflected  itself  upon  the 
eye-glasses  that  stuck  upon  the  tip  of  Judge  Elmore's  nose, 
and  which  carried  him  back  to  the  days  of  yore.  Veary 
grasped  the  old  judge's  hand  and  tried  to  tell  him  how 
grateful  he  was,  and  how  he  would  try  to  make  himself 
worthy  of  this  honor,  and  one  day  he  hoped  to  be  able  to 
repay  the  hospitality  received  at  his  hands ;  but  he  could 
not  utter  one  word  if  his  life  depended  upon  it,  and  the 
pent-up  tears  of  gratitude  streamed  down  his  cheeks  and 
dropped  upon  the  hand  of  his  benefactor  as  he  stooped  and 
pressed  it  to  his  lips ;  and  the  grateful  look  in  his  honest, 
open  eyes  spoke  out  what  the  lips  refused  to  utter.  This 
much  the  judge  saw  and  knew. 

"  I  feel  amply  rewarded,"  said  the  old  judge,  wiping  a 
tear  from  his  own  eye,  as  he  grasped  Veary's  hand  more 
firmly.  "The  grateful  look  in  those  honest  eyes  of  yours 
has  repaid  me  already ;  besides  it  is  a  duty  that  I  owe  to 
your  father;  and  if  you  will  sit  down,  my  boy,  I  will  tell 
you  a  little  story  which  will  probably  be  beneficial  to  you, 
and  you  will  see  that  you  are  not  the  only  boy  that  has 
had  a  hard  time.  Perhaps  you  think  that  the  hard  times 
which  you  experience  are  the  hardest  times  that  have  ever 
come  to  any  one ;  and  so  they  are,  for  you.  But  you 
only  need  to  read  the  biographies  of  thousands  who  have 
lived,  and  died,  and  passed  away,  to  learn  that  it  is  not 
only  you  or  two  or  three  out  of  the  teeming  millions 
who  have  a  hard  time.  Hard  times  have  been  perpetually 
9 


I3O  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

coming  to  all  nations,  in  all  periods  of  their  existence. 
And  so  have  good  times,  and  so  have  chances  for  honest 
people  to  better  their  conditions.  There  never  was  a 
night  that  was  not  followed  by  a  day.  nor  a  storm  that 
was  not  followed  by  a  calm.  The  sun  is  forever  shining 
in  the  heavens,  and  the  clouds  which  sometimes  obscure 
his  rays  are  sure  to  break  and  disperse,  no  matter  how 
dark  and  threatening  they  may  be  for  a  time.  The  brave- 
hearted,  that  hope  on  and  work  on,  need  never  despair. 
It  is  for  the  want  of  bravery  and  courage  that  every  day 
sends  to  their  graves  hundreds  of  men — obscure  men,  who 
have  only  remained  in  obscurity  because  timidity  has 
prevented  them  from  making  a  first  effort,  and  who,  if  they 
could  have  been  induced  to  begin,  would  in  all  probability 
have  gone  great  lengths  in  the  career  of  fame.  The  fact 
is,  that  to  do  anything  in  this  world  worth  doing,  we 
must  not  stand  back  shivering  and  thinking  of  the  cold 
and  danger,  but  jump  in  and  scramble  through  as  well  as 
we  can.  It  will  not  do  to  be  perpetually  calculating  risks 
and  adjusting  good  chances,  and  waiting  for  something  to 
turn  up;  it  did  very  well  before  the  flood,  wlien  a  man 
could  consult  his  friends  upon  an  intended  publication  for 
a  hundred  years,  and  then  live  to  see  its  success  afterward  ; 
but  at  present  a  man  wraits  and  doubts  and  consults  his 
brother  and  his  particular  friends,  till  one  day  he  finds 
that  he  is  fifty  years  of  age ;  that  he  has  lost  so  much  time 
in  consulting  his  first-cousins  and  particular  friends  that  he 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  "13! 

has  no  more  time  to  follow  their  advice.  We  are  all  born 
to  some  purpose  in  life,  and  if  every  one  would  consult 
his  own  taste  and  inclination,  and  follow  the  dictates  of  his 
heart  he  will  soon  find  out  what  his  vocation  is.  This 
much  I  know  by  experience.  I  was  once  a  poor  boy  just 
like  yourself,"  the  old  judge  added,  resting  his  chin  upon 
his  gold-headed  cane.  "Yes,  poor  and  friendless — I  won't 
say  friendless,  either,  for  I  had  some  very  dear  friends,  and 
they  were  friends  indeed,  firm  and  substantial.  My  par- 
ents were  poor  but  honorable  people,  and  lived  in  the 
State  of  Virginia.  My  father  was  a  small  planter,  and  had 
three  or  four  old  negroes,  and  with  their  help  tilled  his 
farm,  which  was  principally  in  tobacco,  and  from  which  he 
supported  his  little  family,  which  consisted  of  only  three 
persons — my  father  and  mother  and  myself,  a  boy  of  ten 
years  when  my  father  died,  leaving  his  wife  and  child 
without  a  farthing,  for  he  had  mortgaged  his  little  farm  to 
go  into  some  enterprise  with  a  partner  who  ran  away  with . 
the  money,  leaving  my  poor  father  a  wiser  but  a  sadder 
man.  For  two  years  my  mother  and  I  struggled  together 
alone  in  a  little  log  cabin  ;  sometimes  we  would  have  some- 
thing to  eat,  and  sometimes  we  would  not,  but  we  man- 
aged to  get  along  somehow ;  I  can't  tell  you  exactly  how, 
until  one  cold,  bitter  day  I  came  home  and  found  my  poor 
mother  prostrate  with  pneumonia,  which  carried  her  to  her 
last  resting-place,  leaving  her  only  child  without  home  or 
friends.  So  I  was  taken  by  the  officials  of  the  law  and 


132  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

bound  out  until  I  became  twenty-one  years  of  age.  Well, 
I  was  bound  to  a  man  who  was  by  trade  a  carpenter,  and 
who,  by  every  strategy,  tried  to  instill  it  into  my  brains, 
but  he  failed  to  do  it  and  would  often  get  vexed  at  me, 
and  finally  gave  up  the  job,  and  called  me  a  clog-headed 
fool.  You  see,"  said  the  old  judge,  smiling,  uthat  I  was 
not  made  for  an  architect.  So  he  tried  me  on  farming, 
which  proved  as  unsatisfactory  as  the  carpenter's  trade, 
for  he  never  could  teach  me  to  plow  a  straight  furrow,  and 
to  my  dying  day  I  shall  never  forget  the  sound  thrashing 
he  gave  me  upon  his  return  home  after  six  weeks'  absence 
and  found  the  corn  and  potatoes  choked  to  death  with  the 
grass  and  weeds,  while  I  was  perched  upon  my  plow- 
handles  reading  an  old  law  book  that  I  had  found  in  the 
garret ;  how  it  came  there  is  a  mystery  to  me  ;  I  suppose 
it  got  lodged  there  in  the  flood  ;  at  any  rate,  it  could  not 
have  brought  rne  a  more  congenial  companion,  for  I  tell 
you,"  he  exclaimed,  bringing  his  fist  do\vn  upon  the  table 
with  a  crash,  ' '  it  was  my  thought  by  day,  and  my  dream 
by  night.  And  many  were  the  hours  I  whiled  away  with 
that  old  centurion,  as  I  lay  upon  a  hay-stack,  with  my 
heels  elevated  above  the  level  of  my  nose,  or  perched 
upon  an  over-hanging  rock,  which  looked  into  the  old  mill- 
pond,  and  from  which  many  a  foot  had  leaped  into  the 
water,  and  dived  to  its  very  depths.  Ah,  I  can  never  for- 
get that  old  mill,"  he  said,  half  mournfully  ;  "it  is  there 
still,  but  many  of  the  bare  feet  have  long  since  ended  the 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  133 

journey  of  life.  It  seems  that  I  can  see  the  old  mill  now, 
with  its  deep,  dark  flume,  and  the  mysterious  old  wheel 
covered  with  moss;  and  its  arms  swinging  around,  making 
a  wreath  of  gold  in  the  sunlight.  Ah,  it  would  be  worth 
worlds  to  sport  again  in  that  cool  stream  with  the  light  of 
childhood  in  my  heart,  and  its  vigor  in  my  limbs ;  but  I 
am  wandering  far  from  my  story  now,  Veary,  as  I  gener- 
ally do  when  I  speak  of  my  boyhood  days,  although  they 
were  far  from  being  happy  ones,  for  like  you,  Veary,  I  had 
hard  times  to  deal  with.  I  had  very  few  companions ;  in 
fact,  there  was  only  one  boy  of  my  age  in  the  neighbor- 
hood that  I  cared  the  snap  of  my  finger  for,  and  that  was 
your  father,  Julius  Carlisle." 

"My  father!  "  said  Veary,  and  a  light  seemed  to  spread 
over  his  whole  countenance. 

"Yes,  your  father,"  said  the  judge,  smiling  at  the  sud- 
den lighting  up  of  Veary's  face  when  his  father's  name  was 
mentioned.  "  Your  father  and  I  were  great  friends,"  he 
continued.  ' '  Whatever  Tom  Elmore  did  was  all  right  in 
the  eyes  of  Julius  Carlisle,  and  what  Julius  Carlisle  did 
was  perfection  in  the  eyes  of  Tom  Elmore.  His  father 
was  a  very  large  planter,  and  lived  in  one  of  the  most  fer- 
tile valleys  of  Virginia,  and  his  neat  stone  cottage  and  well- 
tilled  farm  were  the  pride  of  the  people  of  that  section. 
And  Farmer  Carlisle,  your  grandfather,  was  one  of  the 
most  generous-hearted  men  that  ever  lived  ;  for  no  tramp 
was  ever  known  to  be  turned  away  from  his  door  hungry, 


134  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

and  in  preparing  her  meals  the  good  old  wife  was  always 
wont  to  put  in  a  liberal  allowance,  saying,  in  her  quiet  way, 
'  It  won't  be  lost — somebody  will  be  sure  to  come  along 
hungry,  poor  soul.'  And  she  told  the  truth,  for  every 
tramp  within  fifty  miles  knew  just  where  Farmer  Carlisle 
lived,  and  they  always  made  it  convenient  to  call  just  at 
meal-time,  for  they  knew  they  would  get  a  nice,  warm  meal, 
wipe  their  mouths,  tip  their  hats,  and  disappear.  One  night 
Farmer  Carlisle  and  his  good  old  wife  were  sitting  around 
their  happy  fireside,  listening  to  their  only  son,  Julius  Car- 
lisle, reading  a  catalogue  of  the  Philadelphia  Law  School, 
when  they  heard  a  knock  upon  the  door  without ;  though 
it  was  hardly  heard  by  those  within,  for  the  wind  was  howl- 
ing dismally  around  the  house,  and  the  snow  was  drifting 
heavily  against  the  windows.  Presently  a  low  growl  from 
Hero  told  them  that  it  was  no  delusion,  and  the  old  gen- 
tleman arose  and  went  to  the  door. 

"  '  Good  evening,  Mr.  Carlisle,'  said  a  gosling-like  voice, 
as  he  opened  the  door,  and  the  wind  and  snow  came  sweep- 
ing into  the  house. 

"'Well,  well,  Tommy,'  said  Farmer  Carlisle,  as  he 
hurriedly  closed  the  door,  '  come  in,  my  boy.  Aren't  you 
nearly  frozen  ? ' 

"  'It's  pretty  cold,'  exclaimed  the  boy,  shaking  off  the 
snow.  'Is  Julius  at  home?  I  heard  that  he  was  going  to 
start  to  Philadelphia  to  school  in  a  few  days,  and  I  wanted 
to  see  him  before  he  left.' 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  135 

"'Yes,  yes,  he  is  at  home,'  said  the  old  gentleman. 
'  Come,  Julius,  here  is  your  friend  Tom.' 

' '  The  two  boys  shook  hands,  and  Tom  was  given  a  good, 
warm  seat  by  the  fire,  as  he  exclaimed,  '  I  was  afraid  you 
would  get  off,  Julius,  before  1  could  see  you,  and  to-night 
was  my  only  opportunity  to  come.  When  will  you  leave 
for  Philadelphia  ? ' 

"  '  I  shall  leave  on  the  i8th,'  said  Julius,  as  he  looked 
straight  into  the  fire.  He  was  afraid  to  look  in  poor  Tom's 
eyes,  for  he  saw  that  Tom  was  trying  to  choke  something 
back,  and  a  tear  was  struggling  for  egression,  although  he 
tried  to  look  brave. 

"  There  was  silence  for  some  minutes,  when  Julius  arose 
and  said,  '  Come,  Tom,  let  us  go  up  to  my  room.  I  want 
to  show  you  my  new  outfit  father  bought  me  the  other 
day.  I  know  you  will  like  it,  for  it  is  the  best  fit  I  ever 
had.' 

' '  Tom  arose  and  followed  his  companion  up  to  his  room, 
and  felt  thankful  that  Julius  had  taken  him  off  to  them- 
selves, where  he  would  not  be  ashamed  of  his  tears.  Tom 
took  a  seat  upon  the  bed  while  Julius  spread  out  his  new 
suit  before  him  ;  almost  any  other  boy  would  have  envied 
Julius,  but  Tom  did  not,  although  his  own  coat  was  out  at 
the  elbow,  and  had  been  darned  with  homespun  thread 
which  had  been  dyed  with  gallberries  and  sumac  by  the 
hands  of  old  Mrs.  Belgrove. 

"  After  everything  had  been  shown,  and  Tom's  criticism 


136  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

had  been  passed,  Julius  slapped  him  on  the  shoulder  and 
•exclaimed,  '  Well,  old  fell,  I  hate  to  leave  you  ;  I  wish 
you  could  go,  Tom,  for  I  know  if  you  had  an  opportunity 
you  would  make  a  smart  man ;  much  smarter  than  I  ever 
will,  for  my  head  is  as  thick  as  a  pumpkin.  Beside,  I 
know  that  you  have  a  talent  for  law.  What  have  you 
done  with  that  old  law-book,  Tom,  you  used  to  read  so 
much?  I  believe  that  was  what  put  me  in  the  notion  to 
study  law."' 

"  '  Why,  that  old  Belgrove  threw  it  in  the  fire  and  burnt 
it  up,'  said  Tom,  and  the  tears  gushed  out  afresh.  '  And 
what  do  you  think,  Julius,'  he  continued,  rubbing  his 
rough  coat-sleeve  across  his  eyes,  "he  has  hired  me  out 
to  that  old  General  Crumpton,  to  blow  the  bellows  in  the 
blacksmith  shop  for  three  years,  and  so  I  am  not  to  go  to 
school  any  more,  but  to  be  a  drudge  and  a  slave,  until  I 
am  twenty-one,  but  I  had  rather  die,  yes,  I  had  rather 
die,  Julius,'  and  the  tears  came  in  torrents  down  his 
cheeks. 

"  '  Poor  Tom,'  said  Julius,  sorrowfully,  'I  feel  so  sorry 
for  you,  old  fell,'  and  he  laid  his  arm  around  his  shoulder. 
'  I'm  going  to  try  and  see  if  father  can't  help  you ;  and  I 
know  he  can,  for  if  any  man  can  do  anything  with  Bel- 
grove  it  is  he,  for  he  thinks  that  the  sun  rises  and  sets  in 
father. ' 

"*O!  I'm  going  to  run  away,  Julius!  I  have  every- 
thing fixed  up,  and  I  am  going  to  leave  to-morrow  night.' 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  137 

'•  'Where  are  you  going,  Tom?' 

"  '  I  am  going  to  Kentucky.  I  shall  walk  from  here  to 
Huntington;  there  I  will  take  a  boat  and  make  my  way 
through  to  Cincinnati ;  then  I  shall  take  a  boat  from  there 
to  Louisville  where  I  shall  get  work,  and  I  am  going  to 
take  care  of  every  cent  I  can  make,  and  when  I  get  enough 
ahead  to  pay  my  board  for  one  year's  schooling,  I  am  go- 
ing to  school ;  besides,  I  shall  study  at  night.  You  know 
they  have  night  schools  for  young  men,  Julius.  I  am 
going  to  have  an  education  if  it  takes  a  whole  lifetime,'  he 
added,  excitedly;  'other  boys  have  worked  their  way  up, 
and  so  can  I.  I  can  not,  and  I  will  not,  be  a  drudge  and 
a  slave  for  any  man. ' 

"'That  is  right,  Thomas,'  exclaimed  a  voice,  as  the 
door  opened  and  Farmer  Carlisle  walked  into  the  room. 
'  I  did  not  mean  to  eavesdrop,  boys, '  said  he,  '  but  never- 
theless I  did  it;  and  I  am  glad  I  did,  for  I  always  knew 
you  were  made  of  good  grit,  Tom,  just  like  your  father, 
but,  poor  man,  he  had  bad  luck  on  all  sides.  Now  I  am 
going  to  give  you  a  bit  of  advice,  as  I  am  older  than 
you  are  a  few  years.  Don't  run  away  from  Belgrove 
and  I  will  see  what  I  can  do  for  you.  Do  you  understand 
me?' 

"'Yes,  sir,'  said  Tom,  'I  will  obey  you,'  wondering 
what  it  was  that  Farmer  Carlisle  was  going  to  do  for  him. 

' '  Tom  was  very  much  surprised  the  next  day,  when  he 
came  home  to  dinner,  to  find  Belgrove  and  his  wife  in 


138  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

such  high  spirits ;  for  they  laughed  and  chatted  all  through 
the  meal,  which  was  something  unusual  for  them  to  do,  as  the 
old  man  was  always  very  grum  and  hardly  spoke  through 
his  meals,  unless  there  was  too  much  soda  in  the  biscuit, 
or  the  bread  was  not  brown  enough. 

"  'I  don't  know  what  I  shall  wear,  Jake,'  said  the  old 
lady,  '  for  they  are  such  high-toned  folks,  and  I  hate  to  go 
there  looking  shabby. ' 

"  '  High-toned !  The  devil  and  Tom  Walker !  '  exclaimed 
her  husband,  gruffly.  'They  are  as  plain  as  we  are;  only 
old  Carlisle  has  got  plenty  of  money  and  lives  in  a  fine 
house;  but  I  would  not  give  his  big  toe  for  one-half  of  the 
cracked-up  fools  in  the  neighborhood.  He  is  a  sensible 
man,  and  a  man,  too,  that  I  like.' 

"  '  I  wotrder  if  there  will  be  many  there  ? '  soliloquized  the 
wife  as  she  poured  out  the  third  cup  of  coffee  for  her  hus- 
band. 

"  'Many!  the  dog's  foot;  why,  Mary,  didn't  you  read 
the  ticket?  Where  is  it?' 

'"  Here  it  is, "  said  the  good  wife,  going  down  into  a  t\vo- 
foot  pocket,  and  bringing  out  an  envelope. 

"  '  Now  listen,'  said  Belgrove,  'you  women  are  so  hard 
to  understand  things,  it's  a  wonder  to  me  how  Adam  ever 
got  Eve  to  understand  that  he  was  boss.' 

"  FRIEND  BEI.GROVE  :  \Ve  would  be  pleased  to  have  you  and  your  bet- 
ter half  to  come  and  spend  the  evening  with  us.  Julius  has  set  his  heart 
on  having  a  little  party  before  leaving  for  Philadelphia,  and  I  have  gone 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  139 

against  the  rules  of  the  church  and  consented  to  let  them  dance.  You 
can  join  in  also,  if  you  wish.  As  for  myself,  I  expect  to  open  the  ball 
with  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  house.  Don't  forget  to  bring  Tom,  for  you 

know  he  is  Julius'  shadow. 

" WILLIAM  CARLISLE.' 


"  'He  writes  like  a  sensible  man,'  exclaimed  Belgrove, 
folding  up  the  paper  and  placing  it  in  his  pocket-book. 
He  has  none  of  your  all-fired  tomfoolery  about  it — with 
compliments  of  So-and-so  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  So-and-so.' 

'  "  '  But  it  doesn't  say  whether  there  will  be  many  or  few,' 
put  in  his  wife. 

"  *O,  fiddlesticks,  Mary,  didn't  it  say  a  little  party;  and 
I'm  sure  little  means  few.  Now,  I'm  not  goin'  to  any  ex- 
pense, for  your  bombazine  dress  is  plenty  good  enough,  and 
you  have  not  had  it  more  than  three  years ;  look  at  me,  I 
haven't  had  a  new  suit  for  over  five. ' 

"The  evening  of  the  party  came  on,  and  the  family,  all 
rigged  out  in  their  Sunday  clothes,  seated  themselves  in  the 
spring  wagon,  and  old  Belgrove  and  his  wife,  with  Tom, 
set  out  for  the  first  time  in  thirty  years  to  attend  a  party. 
It  was  Tom's  first  party,  too,  and  all  the  day  he  was  think- 
ing what  it  would  be  like ;  while  Belgrove  was  wondering 
if  Farmer  Carlisle  would  have  apple  or  peach  brandy,  for 
the  latter  he  was  particulary  fond  of.  Then  he  would 
commence  whistling  a  little  familiar  tune,  and  his  mind 
would  wander  back  to  his  boyhood  days,  when  he  and 
Mary  used  to  dance  the  old  Virginia  reel  together. 


I4O  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

"'Well,  here  we  are,'  exclaimed  Belgrove,  jumping 
from  the  wagon  in  front  of  Farmer  Carlisle's  residence ; 
'and,  by  jingo!  if  the  house  ain't  full  and  running  over; 
and  yonder  comes  old  Carlisle  dressed  in  an  inch  of  his 
life.  This  looks  like  a  little  party,  don't  it?  I'm  sorry  I 
come.  Well,  we  are  here  now  and  can't  back  out — jump 
out,  old  woman,'  and  he  glanced  down  at  himself  and  then 
at  his  wife's  faded  bombazine.  'You  look  all  right,'  he 
exclaimed,  trying  to  make  his  better  half  feel  more  com- 
fortable in  her  bombazine. 

' ' '  Did  I  say  anything  about  my  looks  ?  '  she  exclaimed, 
pettishly.  '  I  guess  that  I  am  just  as  good  as  anybody 
here,  if  I  aren't  dressed  so  fine  ;  and  I  don't  care  the  snap  of 
my  finger  for  them  frizzle-headed  fools  that  is  standing  yon- 
der giggling  at  me.  As  for  me,  I  shall  go  in  the  dining- 
room  and  help  poor  Mrs.  Carlisle,  for  I  know  she  must  be 
tired.' 

"  Well,  everything  passed  off  smoothly.  The  supper 
was  fine,  and  the  brandies  and  wines  were  delicious,  and 
the  dancing  was  kept  up  until  ten  o'clock  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  Belgrove  and  his  good  old  lady,  who  was  made 
superintendent  of  the  dining-room,  declared  they  had  never 
spent  such  a  pleasant  time  in  all  their  lives.  And  amid  all 
the  happy  faces,  Tom's  was  the  happiest  and  his  heart  was 
the  lightest;  for  Mr.  Carlisle  had  taken  him  to  one  side 
and  whispered  in  his  ear  that  all  was  right.  '  Belgrove  has 
given  you  entirely  into  my  charge,'  said  he,  'and  I  am 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  14! 

going  to  send  you  off  to  school  with  Julius,  where  you 
will  remain  until  you  graduate. ' 

"  I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  Tom's  feelings,"  said 
the  old  judge,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  "  for  you  know  ex- 
actly how  he  felt,  as  you  have  passed  through  the  very  same 
ordeal.  But,  at  any  rate,  the  two  boys  came  back  gradu- 
ates just  three  years  from  that  day.  Julius  and  Tom  re- 
mained home  for  a  short  vacation,  and  then  they  separated. 
Julius  went  to  Richmond,  Va. ,  to  practice  law,  and  I  wan- 
dered down  here  to  Louisville,  Ky. ,  where  I  have  spent 
the  most  of  my  time,  when  I  was  not  traveling  in  other 
quarters  of  the  world." 

"You!"  exclaimed  Veary,  in  astonishment.  "Are 
you  and  Tom  the  same  person,  Judge  Elmore?" 

"Yes,  Veary,  I  am  that  same  Tom.  And  you  see  I 
am  under  obligations  to  your  father  and  your  grandfather, 
for  the  good  old  man  would  not  receive  a  cent  from  me, 
though  I  sent  him  a  check  for  two  thousand  dollars,  which 
he  sent  back  with  the  words,  '  Hurry  and  get  you  a  wife, 
and  come  and  spend  the  summer  with  us,  for  we  are  very 
lonely ; '  and  I  intended  doing  as  he  requested,  but  some- 
how time  passed  on,  and  found  me  still  in  my  bachelor- 
hood. Well,  the  old  people  died  pretty  soon  after  that, 
and  I  never  heard  from  your  father  any  more,  until  I  saw 
his  only  child  homeless  and  friendless,  and  I  thank  God  for 
directing  the  child  of  my  benefactor  to  my  protecting 
care." 


142  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

1 '  Cast  your  bread  upon  the  waters,  and  it  will  return 
after  many  days." 

Veary  was  up  very  early  the  next  morning,  and  made 
his  way  to  the  study,  although  he  had  not  slept  much  that 
night.  For  hours  he  lay  awake  thinking  of  the  new  life 
that  was  opening  before  him ;  and  thinking  of  little  Birdie, 
and  what  he  should  do  with  her  during  his  absence — the 
little  Birdie  whose  life  he  had  risked  his  own  to  save — and 
who  his  dying  mother  had  lain  in  his  young  arms  to  love, 
shield,  and  protect.  It  seemed  that  the  old  judge  had  en- 
tirely forgotten  Veary's  little  charge,  for  he  had  not  men- 
tioned her  while  planning  for  Veary's  future  career.  But 
Veary  had  never  for  a  moment  forgotten  his  little  foster 
sister,  and  many  were  the  sleepless  hours  he  passed  toss- 
ing from  side  to  side,  as  he  tried  to  think  of  some  way  of 
providing  for  his  little  Birdie.  "  She  must  have  an  educa- 
tion," said  he,  "and  if  I  were  making  money  I  could  do 
it ;  but  she  will  have  to  be  taken  care  of  while  I  am  at 
school.  She  will  have  to  go  to  the  orphan  asylum,"  he 
exclaimed,  and  the  tears  came  into  his  eyes  and  dropped 
upon  his  pillovv;  for  he  could  see  her  little  sad  face  when 
he  would  have  to  tell  her  of  their  parting,  and  could 
almost  feel  her  little  arms  around  his  neck  begging  him  not 
to  leave  her ;  and  he  lay  there  trying,  if  possible,  to  lose 
himself  in  oblivion  and  shut  out  the  thoughts  from  his 
mind.  And  when  he  did  drop  off  to  sleep,  it  was  only  to 
dream  of  all  kinds  of  horrible  things. 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  143 

While  Veary  was  bending  over  his  studies  the  next 
morning,  a  gentle  tap  came  upon  the  door.  He  arose  and 
opened  the  door,  and  was  surprised  to  see  Dr.  St.  George 
standing  before  him. 

"  Good  morning,  doctor,"  said  he ;  "come  in  and  have 
a  seat.  The  judge  has  not  yet  arisen  ;  I  will  send  for  him." 

"I  did  not  call  to  see  the  judge,"  said  the  doctor,  grave- 
ly, "but  to  see  you." 

"  To  see  me?  "  exclaimed  Veary  in  surprise. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  doctor,  "to  see  you  on  some  very 
important  business,  important  to  one  soul  at  least ;  and  I 
hope  you  will  not  think  that  I  am  meddling  with  your 
affairs,  or  troubling  myself  where  it  does  not  concern  me, 
for  I  feel  a  deep  interest  in  your  welfare,  Veary,  and  in 
the  welfare  of  your  little  sister." 

"My  little  sister?"  exclaimed  Veary,  excitedly;  "is 
she  sick,  doctor?" 

' '  Not  unless  she  has  been  taken  ill  since  I  saw  her  in 
my  office  last  evening ;  but  I  would  not  be  surprised  if  you 
were  to  hear  of  her  death  at  any  time,  for  she  is  liable  to 
be  knocked  down  and  killed  at  any  moment  by  vehicles 
and  street-cars." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  doctor,"  said  Veary,  turning 
red  in  the  face,  and  then  white,  as  his  fingers  worked 
nervously  with  the  door-knob. 

"  I  know  you  do  not,  my  boy,"  said  the  doctor,  ten- 
derly, "  and  I  will  be  more  explicit.  Did  you  know  that 


144  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

the  old  woman  in  whose  keeping  you  have  placed  your 
little  sister  compels  her  to  go  out  in  the  streets  every  day, 
and  in  all  kinds  of  weather,  to  beg  money  to  buy  whisky 
to  pour  down  her  throat?" 

"No,  I  did  not,"  said  Veary;  "this  is  the  first  I  have 
heard  about  it.  Surely  it  can  not  be  true,  you  must  have 
been  misinformed,  doctor.  It  can  not  be  true,  for  she 
seems  to  love  Birdie  as  dearly  as  if  she  were  her  own  child. 
I  never  saw  her  under  the  influence  of  liquor  but  once  in 
my  life,  and  then  I  threatened  to  send  her  away  if  I  ever 
caught  her  so  again,  and  she  promised  me  she  would  never 
touch  it  again." 

"To  my  certain  knowledge  it  is  true,"  said  Dr.  St. 
George,  "  for  Birdie  has  been  a  constant  visitor  at  my  of- 
fice, and  it  was  from  her  own  lips  that  I  heard  her  story.  I 
did  not  know  who  the  child  was,  though  I  had  taken  a 
great  fancy  to  her,  and  was  always  glad  to  see  the  little 
thing  come ;  she  seemed  to  be  such  an  intelligent  child, 
and  so  unlike  other  children  I  have  seen  on  the  streets  beg- 
ging. There  was  something  about  her  that  attracted  me 
to  her,  and  my  heart  went  out  to  the  child ;  so  one  day  I 
took  her  upon  my  lap  and  questioned  her.  She  at  first 
hesitated  to  tell  me  anything,  but  finally  I  won  her  confi- 
dence, and  then  she  told  me  that  Veary  Carlisle  was  her 
brother,  and  when  I  asked  her  why  she  did  not  tell  you, 
she  replied,  '  Because  granny  will  kill  me. '  She  also  told 
me  that  the  old  woman  beat  her  severely  if  she  went  home 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  145 

without  any  money,  and  this  she  confirmed  by  showing 
me  the  scars  upon  her  little  back  which  I  examined." 

This  was  too  much  for  poor  Veary,  and  he  exclaimed, 
' «  My  God,  can  it  be  true  ?  " 

"It  is  true,"  said  Dr.  St.  George,  "and  I  have  taken 
it  upon  myself  to  come  and  tell  you,  and  I  feel  that  I  have 
performed  a  duty  in  doing  so." 

"You  have  done  me  a  great  kindness,  doctor,"  said 
Veary,  ' '  and  I  feel  so  grateful  to  you.  I  can  not  tell  you 
how  much  I  thank  you." 

And  he  arose  from  his  seat,  with  the  blood  boiling  in 
his  veins,  and  his  eyes  flashing  fire,  as  he  grasped  his  hat 
and  was  about  to  rush  from  the  room,  when  Dr.  St.  George 
laid  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  said,  "Where  are 
you  going,  Veary?" 

"I  am  going  to  kill  that  old  hag,"  he  exclaimed,  "I 
am  going  to  choke  the  very  life  out  of  her  infernal  old 
body," 

"You  must  not,  Veary,"  said  the  doctor;  "you  must 
remain  here  until  your  excitement  somewhat  subsides,  for 
if  you  were  to  kill  her  your  life  would  be  ruined  forever, 
even  should  you  escape  the  penalty  of  the  law.  Now  sit 
down  and  listen  to  me,  and  act  like  a  sensible  boy,  which  I 
know  you  are,  and  all  things  will  come  out  right." 

Veary  took  a  seat  by  Dr.  St.  George  as  he  bade  him 
do,  and  said,  "Well,  doctor,  I  am  willing  to  follow  your 
advice,  for  I  know  that  you  will  advise  me  for  the  best. 'v 
10 


146  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

"Well,"  said  the  doctor,  "in  the  first  place,  do  not 
touch  that  old  woman,  notwithstanding  she  deserves  to  be 
choked ;  retribution  will  come  upon  her  and  she  will  be 
justly  punished  for  her  wickedness.  Judge  Elmore  tells 
me  that  he  intends  to  send  you  off  to  school,  and  if  he 
does,  I  will  take  care  of  your  little  sister.  It  will  not  do 
to  leave  her  with  that  old  woman." 

"  O,  doctor,  you  are  so  kind,  how  can  I  ever  thank' 
you.  Only  last  night  I  could  not  sleep  for  thinking  of  her. 
Now,  she  will  not  have  to  go  to  the  orphan  asylum,"  ex- 
claimed Veary,  and  a  happy  expression  came  over  his 
countenance,  which  only  a  moment  ago  was  distorted 
with  passion. 

' '  Do  not  thank  me, "  said  he,  ' '  for  it  will  be  a  pleasure 
to  me  to  have  her  in  my  house ;  besides,  if  you  are  will- 
ing, I  will  adopt  her  for  my  own,  and  I  will  educate  her 
and  will  raise  her  up  right.  She  shall  never  want  for  any- 
thing that  money  can  buy,  and  whenever  you  may  wish 
to  visit  her,  come  and  make  your  home  with  her  as  long 
as  you  may  desire." 

"You  have  my  full  consent,  and  my  gratitude  for  your 
kind  offer.  Take  her,  Dr.  St.  George,  but  teach  her  to 
love  me,  and  do  not  let  her  forget  me.  I  know  you  can 
do  better  by  her  than  I  can ;  and  she  will  be  just  the  same 
to  me,  but  when  I  am  gone  tell  her  of  me,  and  don't  let 
her  forget  me." 

"  I  will,"  said  the  doctor,  rising,    "and  I  would  like  to 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  147 

go  and  get  her  immediately;  I  want  to  deprive  that  old 
hag  of  her  morning  dram." 

"We  will  go  at  once,"  said  Veary,  "I  will  be  back  be- 
fore the  judge  arises;  he  never  gets  up  until  nine  o'clock, 
and  always  takes  his  breakfast  in  his  room." 

So  they  took  their  seats  in  the  doctor's  barouche  and 
were  soon  making  their  way  in  the  direction  of  the  cottage 
that  Veary  called  his  home. 

"It  seems  that  a  house  was  burned  there  last  night," 
said  Dr.  St.  George,  as  he  came  in  sight  of  a  pile  of  smok- 
ing coals.  "  And  there  is  a  strange  smell  about  the  prem- 
ises; surely  there  was  no  one  burned  in  the  house." 

He  felt  something  heavy  against  him  and  looking 
around  was  surprised  to  see  Veary  Carlisle  lying  white  and 
stiff  against  his  shoulder. 

"What  could  have  made  him  faint?"  exclaimed  the 
doctor,  as  he  bore  him  in  his  arms  to  the  first  cottage  he 
came  to.  "It  must  have  been  the  scent  of  that  burning 
flesh;  it  is  terrible;  I  wonder  what  it  is?" 

"It  is  terrible,  it  is  perfectly  awful!  "  exclaimed  an  old 
lady,  as  she  placed  a  cold  towel  around  Veary's  head. 
"  Poor  boy,  poor  boy,  it  is  enough  to  make  him  faint.  I 
have  been  looking  out  for  him  all  the  morning,  and  would 
have  sent  for  him  but  my  little  crippled  boy  was  sick,  and 
I  had  no  one  to  send." 

"Do  you  know  this  boy,  madam?  "  said  the  doctor. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  old  lady,   "I  have  seen  him  pass 


148  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

my  house  very  often,  and  he  was  so  good  to  my  little  crip- 
pled boy,  and  he  loved  his  little  sister  so  dearly.  Poor  lit- 
tle fellow,  it  is  a  great  blow  to  him." 

•'What  do  you  mean,  madam?"  exclaimed  the  doctor, 
"I  don't  understand  you;  has  anything  serious  hap- 
pened?" 

"  O,  I  thought  you  knew  all  about  it,"  said  she.  "  Why, 
old  Granny  Nailar,  as  they  call  her,  and  little  Birdie, 
Veary's  sister,  were  burned  up  in  a  cottage  last  night,  and 
that  is  what  you  smell.  Isn't  it  just  terrible?" 

"Merciful  Heaven!"  exclaimed  Dr.  St.  George;  "can 
it  be  possible?" 

The  conversation  seemed  to  arouse  Veary  and  he  began 
to  realize  what  had  happened,  and  he  sprang  from  the 
sofa  where  the  good  doctor  had  laid  him  cold  and  lifeless 
a  few  minutes  before,  and  exclaimed  in  a  hoarse,  unnatural 
voice,  "Mrs.  Wilson, have  I  been  dreaming?  am  I  mad,  or 
is  it  true  that  my  poor  little  Birdie  was  burned  up  in  that 
cottage  last  night?  O,  tell  me  quick!  let  me  know  all." 

The  kind-hearted  old  lady  laid  her  trembling  hand  upon 
his  shoulder,  as  the  tears  trickled  down  her  old  withered 
cheeks,  and  said,  gently,  "My  poor  boy,  it  is  true.  Your 
little  sister  is  in  heaven,  where  neither  fire  nor  snow  can 
enter." 

"O,  God!"  said  the  sorrow-stricken  Veary,  and  again 
he  was  lying  a  lifeless  mass  in  Dr.  St.  George's  arms. 

The  doctor  took   him   home  to  his  kind    benefactor, 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD  .WITHOUT    A    NAME.  149 

where  he  lay  for  many  weeks,  with  the  fever  burning  his 
brain,  and  raving  like  a  maniac,  calling  all  the  while  for 
his  darling  little  Birdie ;  his  lost,  lost  Birdie. 

Dr.  St.  George  attended  him  faithfully,  and  many  were 
the  days  and  nights  he  sat  by  the  bedside  of  this  sorrow- 
stricken  boy,  and  listened  to  his  pitiful  moans ;  and  many 
were  the  silent  tears  that  were  wrung  from  his  own  bleed- 
ing heart,  whose  wounds  had  been  opened  afresh. 

After  many  weeks  of  painful  illness,  he  was  able  to  go 
out  of  the  house  and  sit  beneath  the  shade  of  the  large 
elm  tree,  that  seemed  to  stand  like  a  protecting  angel  be- 
tween him  and  the  sun's  scorching  rays ;  for  winter  had 
laid  aside  its  white  robe  of  snow  and  ice,  and  spring  had 
come  again  with  all  its  radiance.  But  what  was  spring  to 
him  now?  or  what  was  the  beautiful  world  to  him,  when 
he  had  nothing  to  live  or  work  for  ?  and  no  memories  save 
the  sweet  young  face  which  had  passed  from  him  forever, 
and  the  flowers  that  hung  over  his  mother's  grave,  and 
the  words  that  fell  from  that  dying  mother's  lips  on  that 
cold,  wintry  day:  "Take  her.  She  will  be  a  comfort  to 
you,  my  son.  You  will  have  something  to  live  for  and  to 
work  for."  "What  have  I  to  live  for  or  to  work  for 
now?  "  said  he,  mournfully.  "  Why  was  she  given  to  me 
to  be  so  ruthlessly  snatched  away,  and  after  I  had  learned 
to  love  her  so  dearly  ?  And  why  was  it  her  fate  to  die 
such  a  horrible  death — she  so  pure  and  so  innocent?  O, 
Justice!  where  art  thou?  Where  is  thy  dwelling  place? 


I5O  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

Surely  not  on  this  earth.  This  lower  world  does  not  come 
under  thy  jurisdiction." 

He  bowed  his  head  upon  his  hands  and  the  hot  tears 
trickled  down  his  pale,  thin  cheeks,  and  fell  like  raindrops 
upon  the  grass  beneath  his  feet. 

"  Veary,  my  boy,  you  must  not  give  up  to  your  feel- 
ings in  this  way,"  said  a  gentle  voice  at  his  side,  and  an 
arm  was  laid  around  his  shoulder.  "You  say  you  have 
nothing  to  live  for.  You  are  mistaken ;  you  have  every- 
thing to  live  for.  You  have  a  bright  future  before  you, 
although  the  dark  clouds  of  adversity  may  for  a  time  ob- 
scure the  rays  of  your  bright  anticipations ;  but  do  not 
give  up,  my  boy,  for  a  bright  and  glorious  sun  is  rising  for 
you,  and  those  bitter  tears  you  shed  now  will  be  as  sealed 
fountains  in  bottles  of  gold.  Yes,  Veary,  you  have  a  great 
deal  to  live  for.  You  have  a  poor  old  father,  upon  whose 
furrowed  brow  the  finger  of  time  has  left  its  impression, 
and  in  his  declining  years  his  feeble  limbs  will  need  your 
protecting  care.  I  am  your  father  now,  Veary,  and  you 
are  my  child,  given  to  me  by  the  laws  of  the  United  States. 
I  have  adopted  you  as  my  own,  and  you  will  bear  my  name, 
and  when  I  am  no  more,  you  will  take  my  place  in  the 
world,  and  I  want  you  to  be  an  honor  to  my  name. 
Your  name  is  now  Veary  Elmore.  I  will  call  you  Veary 
still,  because  I  do  not  want  to  rob  you  of  the  name  your 
mother  gave  you." 

This  sudden  revolving  of  the  wheel  made  a  great  change 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  151 

in  Veary's  life,  but  not  his  feelings.  Instead  of  a  poor 
office-boy,  he  was  now  the  honored  son  and  heir  of  the 
wealthy  Judge  Elmore,  and  could  he  have  thought  the 
grave  would  give  up  its  dead,  he  would  have  been  a  happy 
boy.  Or  could  he  forget  the  dead  white  ashes  that  lay 
mouldering  beneath  the  ruins  of  that  old  cottage,  he  could 
forget  his  sorrow.  But  he  could  not;  and  I  fear  it  will  be 
many,  many  years  ere  he  will  cease  to  mourn  for  that  dear, 
sweet  face  he  thinks  is  mouldering  there. 

It  was  many  days  after  that  before  Veary  was  able  to 
go  out  upon  the  streets ;  but  as  soon  as  his  feeble  strength 
would  permit  him,  he  sought  the  spot  where  he  knew  the 
ashes  of  his  darling  lay,  white  and  beaten  hard  by  the 
April  showers. 

•'  Can  it  be  possible,"  said  he,  mournfully,  leaning  him- 
self against  a  scorched  and  withered  tree,  with  a  helpless, 
subdued  expression,  touching  to  witness,  "can  it  be  possi- 
ble that  my  poor  little  darling,  my  little  baby  Birdie,  lies 
beneath  that  ruin?  that  her  precious  ashes  are  mingling 
and  mouldering  together  with  that  infamous  old  woman, 
who  has  been  the  whole  cause  of  all  this  sorrow,  of  all  this 
anguish?"  He  did  not  weep,  but  his  eyes,  fastened  al- 
ways upon  the  spot,  told  of  sealed  fountains  where  the  hot 
tears  were  constantly  welling  up,  and  failing  to  find  egress 
without  fell  upon  the  bruised  heart  which  blistered  and 
burned  beneath  their  touch,  but  felt  no  relief. 

"  O,  my  darling!"  he  continued,  "you  were  too  inno- 


152  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

cent,  too  good,  to  meet  with  such  a  fate.  It  would  have 
been  better  had  you  died  by  the  eagle's  claws  from  which 
I  saved  you,  than  to  have  lived  and  suffered,  and  at  last 
perish  in  such  a  manner.  O,  God,  help  me  bear  it,  and 
teach  me  how  to  forgive  the  one  who  has  blighted  my  whole 
life !  "  And  the  floodgates  of  grief  seemed  to  open,  and 
he  wept  as  he  had  never  done  before.  "It  would  be  some 
comfort  to  me,"  he  murmured,  "could  I  but  go  and  kneel 
beside  her  little  resting-place,  and  let  my  tears  fall  upon  her 
little  grave ;  but  even  that  is  denied  me.  There  is  a  grave 
somewhere,  but  I  know  not  where ;  but  she,  alas !  does  not 
rest  there.  Her  precious  ashes  are  mingling  with  those  of 
her  destroyer.  Purity  and  sin  lie  entombed  in  one  sepul- 
cher. "  He  drew  his  hand  across  his  inflamed  and  swollen 
eyes  to  wipe  away  the  scalding  tears,  and  turned  his  face 
toward  his  home,  a  changed  boy.  With  his  sparkling  eyes 
and  exquisite  coloring  of  youth  was  mingled  a  wearied, 
indescribable  expression  of  stern  hopelessness — of  solemn 
repose — as  if  he  had  deliberately  bidden  farewell  to  all  that 
makes  life  bright  and  happy,  and  the  magnetic  warmth  and 
energy  of  his  shifting  countenance  were  changed  into  a 
marble-like  expression. 

Would  the  light  ever  come  back  to  his  eyes?  the  laugh- 
ter to  his  lips?  the  peace  and  youthful  hope  to  his  heart? 
Only  the  sequel  can  tell. 

And  now,  for  a  time,  we  will  leave  him  alone  with  his 
grief;  knowing  that  time  is  the  only  healing  balm  for  bruised 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  153 

and  bleeding  hearts,  and  we  trust  that  erelong  the  aspira- 
tion that  has  kindled  and  blazed  and  died  in  his  young 
heart  will  be  resurrected  from  its  grave  ;  and  that  when  we 
meet  again  we  may  greet  him  upon  the  pinnacle  of  fame 
with  the  returned  sparkle  in  his  eye,  the  ripple  upon  his 
cheeks,  and  the  glad  laughter  in  his  heart.  And  now  to 
the  tender  care  of  his  God  and  benefactor  we  will  leave 
this  brave  yet  tender  and  true-hearted  boy. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

FOUND  IN7  THE  SNOW,   OR  AN  OLD  MAN*S  STORY. 

Dark  and  tempestuous  was  the  night,  and  deep  was  the 
snow  that  lay  white  and  ghost-like  over  the  frozen  land. 
Around  the  throne  on  high  not  a  single  star  quivered,  and 
the  gentle  queen  had  yielder  her  scepter  to  the  king  of 
storm,  and  the  boisterous  winds  unanimously  howled  and 
wailed  as  they  came  forth  from  their  mystic  homes,  as  if 
to  enchant  by  their  aid  the  wildness  of  the  scene. 

Whistling  through  the  broken  window-panes,  it  stirred 
the  white  hairs  of  an  old  man  who  lay  dying  in  a  dreary, 
desolate-looking,  and  miserably-furnished  room  in  a  tene- 
ment house,  with  no  watcher  near  his  couch  save  a  little 
girl  some  seven  or  eight  years  old.  The  loud,  solemn 
strokes  from  the  city  clock  made  him  stir  and  gaze  vacant- 
ly around  him.  The  snow  and  ice  were  penetrating  through 
the  broken  windows,  and  made  the  child's  teeth  chatter, 
and  shivering,  she  crouched  down  near  the  fireless  stove, 
as  if  vainly  expecting  to  derive  some  warmth  from  it.  In 
one  corner  of  the  room  stood  an  old  piano  covered  with 
dust,  and  some  sheets  of  music  were  scattered  upon  it. 
The  old  man  had  been  a  music  teacher,  and  by  his  profes- 

(154) 


A    BEAUTIFUL   BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  155 

sion  had  managed  to  make  a  scanty  support.  For  ten 
years  he  had  lived  in  this  room  alone,  teaching  when  he 
could  get  pupils,  which  was  extremely  seldom.  Had  it 
not  been  for  the  kind  Providence  that  directed  his  steps  to 
the  river  side,  where  he  found  this  little  sunbeam,  one  cold, 
black  night,  wandering  alone,  like  a  lost  lamb  from  its  fold, 
and  crying  for  some  kind  shepherd  to  shelter  it  in  his  arms, 
he  would  have  died  alone  and  uncared  for.  But  he  took  to 
his  heart  this  little  wandering,  homeless  child,  and  carried 
it  home  in  his  arms,  where  it  brightened  up  his  gloomy 
home  and  cheered  his  last  hours  on  earth. 

A  lamp  was  burning  dimly  upon  one  corner  of  the 
piano,  casting  flickering  shadows  on  the  fair  young  child, 
and  on  the  pale  face  of  the  dying  man,  whose  labored 
breathing  resounded  through  the  gloomy  apartment.  He 
was  very  tall  and  straight,  though  time  and  hardship  had 
laid  hands  heavily  upon  his  splendid  form,  and  his  head 
was  silvered  with  the  frosts  of  many  winters.  Time's 
crimping-iron  had  left  deep  impressions  upon  his  once 
handsome  face,  though  it  was  a  grand  old  face,  with  such 
a  high,  intellectual  forehead,  and  features  that  expressed 
so  much  of  firmness  and  power  that  one  might  have  won- 
dered to  find  its  owner  in  such  a  place. 

The  little  girl  was  very  beautiful,  although  a  trifle  wan 
and  pale,  and  wise  beyond  her  years. 

"Birdie,  my  child,  come  here,"  he  called  in  a  feeble 
voice  scarcely  loud  enough  to  reach  the  child's  ears. 


156  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

The  little  girl  arose  and  went  up  to  the  bedside  and 
laid  her  head  upon  his  pillow.  He  reached  out  his  hands 
and  by  a  desperate  effort  the  old  man  lifted  her  to  a  place 
beside  him,  and  devoured  her  face  with  eyes  in  which  was 
that  awful,  indescribable  look  that  tells  of  approaching  dis- 
solution. 

"  My  little  Birdie,"  he  began,  gazing  in  her  liquid  blue 
eyes,  "my  poor  little  wing-clipped  bird,  must  I  leave 
you  alone?  Must  the  nest  that  has  warmed  and  sheltered 
you  these  few  months  be  torn  away,  and  leave  you  alone 
and  unprotected?  You  so  young,  so  innocent,  and  the 
world  so  cold,  so  vile.  How  I  wish  that  I  could  take  you 
with  me  to  that  beautiful  homestead  where  I  shall  shortly 
go." 

"Won't  you  take  me  with  you,  papa,"  said  Birdie, 
choking  back  a  sob.  "You  will  take  Birdie  with  you, 
won't  you?  " 

"  No,  my  darling,  not  now  ;  but  you  will  come  bye-and- 
bye,  and  I  want  you  to  listen,  for  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a 
little  story,  Birdie. 

' '  For  ten  long  years  I  had  lived  in  this  lonely  little 
room,  with  no  aim,  no  purpose,  no  hope,  weary  of  life, 
weary  of  the  world,  weary  of  everything  under  the  sun, 
•and  in  my  weariness  I  was  even  beginning  to  question  the 
justice  of  my  Creator  for  having  dealt  so  harshly  with  me, 
when  one  dark  and  stormy  night  I  was  kneeling  upon  the 
banks  of  the  river,  asking  God  to  forgive  me  for  a  crime  I 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  1 57 

was  about  to  commit.  In  my  blindness — God  forgive  me ! 
I  was  going  to  commit  suicide.  I  arose  from  my  knees, 
and  was  about  to  make  the  fatal  plunge,  when  a  little  bird 
fluttered  down  at  my  feet,  tired  like  myself,  and  foot-sore 
even  with  the  short  distance  it  had  come  on  life's  rough 
journey.  I  gathered  it  in  my  arms  and  smoothed  its  rum- 
pled feathers,  and  in  its  ear  whispered  the  name  of  father. 
It  caught  the  accent  and  nestled  on  my  bosom,  not  tim- 
idly, for  such  was  not  its  nature,  but  as  if  it  had  found  a 
resting-place.  I  turned  my  back  upon  the  dark,  deep  wa- 
ters of  the  Ohio,  and  returned  to  my  lonely  and  once  des- 
olate home  ;  but  I  was  a  changed  man.  The  spring-time  of 
my  youth  had  passed  and  gone,  but  my  autumn  had 
brought  with  it  a  treasure,  brighter  than  any  jewel  that 
ever  glistened  in  the  sun's  golden  rays ;  and  the  music  of 
her  voice  sounded  sweeter  to  me  than  the  music  of  the 
nightingale,  which  has  filled  the  world  with  wonder.  And 
as  I  pressed  it  to  my  throbbing  heart,  and  its  tiny  head 
nestled  in  my  bosom,  the  murmuring  brooks  and  the  whis- 
pering leaves  spoke  of  a  time  when  she  would  be  queen  of 
birds — that  she  would  one  day  bring  to  my  lonely,  deso- 
late home  a  ray  of  golden  sunlight.  But  I  hear  another 
voice  speaking  to  me  now — it  is  the  voice  of  the  grave ;  it 
is  calling  me  and  I  must  go — yes,  go  and  leave  you  in  this 
great  cold  city,  with  no  friend  but  God.  O,  Heavenly 
Father,  watch  over  this  lonely,  friendless  child,  and  pro- 
vide for  her  a  friend  who  will  fill  a  father's  place.  Keep 


158  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD   WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

her  in  Thy  protecting  care,  and  shield  her  from  the  temp- 
tations that  await  her  just  outside  these  black  and  dingy 
walls." 

Something  in  his  face  alarmed  the  little  girl,  and  she 
dropped  her  fair  curly  head  on  the  pillow  beside  him,  and 
cried  softly,  "O,  papa,  take  me  with  you  !  do,  please,  papa, 
don't  go  away  and  leave  Birdie !  I'm  so  awful  afraid  to  be 
alone  in  this  dark  house — so  very  afraid,  papa,  and  I'm  so 
cold,  too,"  she  sobbed,  her  childish  brain  failing  to  grasp 
the  dread  meaning  of  his  words. 

Gently  as  possible  he  tried  to  make  her  understand  the 
change  that  was  approaching,  until  at  last  she  appeared  to 
realize  what  the  going  away  implied,  and  her  piteous  sobs 
echoed  through  the  gloomy  and  cheerless  apartment,  and 
died  away  amid  the  howling  winds  and  pelting  snow- 
storm. 

' '  Now,  I  want  you  to  sing  that  sweet  little  song  I  taught 
you  to  sing,"  said  the  dying  man ;  "  it  will  help  to  soothe 
my  fleeting  breath,  and  my  spirit  will  not  feel  so  lonely  in 
its  flight." 

The  little  child  sang  the  words  in  a  sweet,  tremulous 
voice : 

It  is  finished  !  blessed  Jesus, 

Thou  hast  breathed  thy  latest  sigh. 

Teach  us,  the  sons  of  Adam, 
How  the  Son  of  God  can  die. 

Jesus,  Lord  of  dead  and  living, 
Let  Thy  mercy  rest  on  me  ! 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  159 

Grant  me,  too,  when  life  is  finished, 
Rest  in  Paradise  with  Thee. 

"  Grant  it,  merciful  Father,"  said  the  dying  man,  as  he 
closed  his  eyes  to  all  of  earth,  and  his  weary  spirit  went 
in  search  of  that  beautiful  resting-place  beneath  the  shad- 
ows of  the  palm  trees  of  the  city  on  high. 

The  clocks  in  the  high  church-towers  throughout  the  ' 
city  were  ringing  out  their  twelve  long  strokes  when  little 
Birdie,  to  whom  the  reader  has  already  been  introduced  as 
the  heroine  of  our  story,  was  made  the  third  time  an  or- 
phan, and  only  seven  years  had  passed  over  her  young  and 
unsophisticated  head.  Though  young  in  years,  she  had 
grown  old  with  suffering.  Like  a  wild  thing  the  poor  child 
fled  through  the  dark  hallways  of  the  gloomy  tenement, 
and  knocked  with  all  her  feeble  strength  upon  the  door  of 
a  room  which  was  occupied  by  a  poor  sewing-woman,  who 
toiled  early  and  late  as  a  means  of  providing  food  for  her 
five  little  ones,  while  a  worthless  husband,  who  was  not 
worthy  of  that  appellation,  spent  the  most  of  his  time  in 
a  neighboring  grogshop.  Late  as  was  the  hour,  she  was 
still  bending  over  her  needle  when  little  Birdie's  summons 
startled  her.  She  opened  the  door  hurriedly,  and  the  lit- 
tle creature  almost  fell  into  her  arms,  her  tiny  face  white 
with  a  terrible  fear,  and  the  nervous  sobs  which  she  could 
not  restrain  almost  prevented  her  utterance. 

"O,   please,   please   come,    Mrs.   Green,   and    see   my 
papa!     He  is  so  cold  and  white,  and  won't  speak  to  me 


I6O  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

any  more,  and  I  am  so  awful  afraid,"  she  wailed,  unable  to 
find  a  word  that  would  express  her  feelings. 

Mrs.  Green  took  Birdie's  little  cold  hand  in  her  own, 
and  together  they  entered  the  cheerless  room  where  the 
old  man  lay  cold  and  rigid  in  the  dread  arms  of  death. 
Mrs.  Green  glanced  around  her  with  an  involuntary  shud- 
der. The  dreary,  bare  room,  the  empty  cupboard,  the 
fireless  stove,  the  broken  windows  through  which  the 
snow  was  drifting,  the  rigid  form  on  the  bed,  and  the  beau- 
tiful, lonely  child  clinging  to  her  skirts  in  terror  at  the  si- 
lent hour  of  midnight,  all  combined  to  form  a  picture  well 
calculated  to  inspire  one  with  awe,  and  live  long  in  the 
memory.  The  wide-open,  glassy  eyes  of  the  dead  man 
seemed  to  be  mutely  imploring  her  to  take  pity  on  the 
lonely  little  creature  clinging  to  her  skirts,  and  as  if  in  obe- 
dience to  the  dumb  glance  she  raised  little  Birdie  in  her 
arms  and  imprinted  a  kiss  upon  her  trembling  lips,  and 
then  carried  her  down  stairs  and  laid  her  in  the  bed  with  her 
own  little  ones,  and  Birdie,  nestling  under  the  scanty  cov- 
ering, sobbed  herself  to  sleep  in  the  grateful  warmth. 

An  inquest  was  held  upon  the  remains  of  the  old  man, 
and  as  no  money  could  be  found  upon  the  premises,  he  was 
taken  away  and  buried  in  "  Potter's  Field." 

The  next  question  was,  how  to  dispose  of  little  Birdie  ? 
Mrs.  Green  would  gladly  have  kept  the  beautiful,  intelli- 
gent child,  and  shared  with  her  the  poor  food  she  labored 
so  hard  to  provide  for  her  own  little  ones,  but  her  husband 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  l6l 

in  a  fit  of  drunken  frenzy,  threw  little  Birdie  out  on  the 
pavement  and  terrified  her  beyond  measure.  Nothing 
could  be  done  but  to  notify  the  authorities,  and  it  was 
decided  that  on  a  certain  day  she  was  to  be  taken  to  some 
charitable  institution  or  home  for  the  friendless.  On  the 
night  previous  to  that  which  she  was  to  have  been  taken 
away,  Green  returned  home  drunk,  as  usual,  and  com- 
menced abusing  his  wife  shamefully,  using  language  that 
filled  Birdie's  young  heart  with  terror  and  made  her  shiver 
and  crouch  low  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  room,  from  whence 
her  suppressed  sobs  reached  the  ears  of  the  maddened 
drunkard,  whose  attention,  diverted  for  a  time  from  his 
unfortunate  wife,  turned  on  the  trembling  and  frightened 
child  with  the  fury  of  a  tiger.  He  sprang  toward  her  and 
caught  her  by  the  loose,  flowing  curls  of  her  hair  and  threw 
her  violently  upon  the  floor. 

With  a  terrified  shriek  that  rang  through  the  house,  she 
tore  from  his  grasp  and  darted  like  some  little  wild  thing 
out  at  the  door,  down  the  steps,  and  out  in  the  cold,  black 
night,  not  knowing,  not  thinking,  and  not  caring  whither 
her  flying  footsteps  took  her — anxious  only  to  put  a  long 
distance  between  herself  and  the  terrible  man  whom  she 
feared  more  than  the  black  darkness  of  the  night,  or  the 
busy  whirl  of  the  city  streets. 

Panting  and  breathless,  she  was  compelled  to  pause  at 
last,  and  for  the  first  time  ventured  to  look  back.  Long 
she  wandered,  up  one  street  and  down  another,  trying, 
1 1 


1 62  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

if  possible,  to  find  a  friendly  hand,  but  no  one  noticed  the 
poor  little  homeless  outcast.  She  was  too  young  to  realize 
the  full  horror  of  her  position,  and  erelong  sleep  overtook 
her,  and  she  sank  down  by  a  pump  and  laid  her  head 
against  it  and  fell  asleep,  the  silken,  tangled  curls  of  her 
hair  blowing  about  her  pretty  face,  and  her  little  hands 
purple  with  the  cold  clasped,  as  if  in  prayer,  upon  her 
breast.  The  gay  and  fashionable  passed  her  by  on  their 
way  to  scenes  of  festive  enjoyment,  or  returned  from 
church,  where  they  had  dropped  a  nickel  for  foreign  mis- 
sions, while  beneath  their  feet  a  worthy  object  of  -charity 
lay,  uncared  for  and  unnoticed,  save  with  contemptuous 
glance  and  a  curl  of  the  lip  as  they  hurried  by. 

The  audiences  from  the  theater,  from  the  lecture-room, 
from  the  churches,  all  passed  her,  but  still  she  slept  on  un- 
disturbed, until  a  burly  policeman  by  chance  came  out  of  a 
saloon,  and  gaped,  and  spying  the  little  outcast,  struck 
the  pump  with  his  club,  and  she  sprang  up'  in  affright, 
thinking  it  was  the  drunken  man  she  was  so  much  afraid  of. 

"What  are  you  doing  out  here  this  time  of  night, 
you  little  scamp,  you?"  he  exclaimed,  stamping  his  foot 
upon  the  frozen  pavement.  "Scat  along  home  this 
minute !  " 

Home !  home !  ah,  could  that  poor  child  have  been 
blessed  with  a  spot  she  could  call  her  home,  how  grateful 
her  little  heart  would  have  been.  The  wild  beasts  have 
holes  to  crawl  into,  but  she  had  no  place  to  lay  her  head — 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  163 

a  poor,  friendless  outcast,  shut  out  from  home,  love,  and 
mercy,  to  wander  alone  in  the  streets. 

With  none  to  pity,  none  to  bless, 
.  None  to  soothe  the  troubled  breast ; 
Lonely,  wandering  through  the  snow, 
Knowing  not  which  way  to  go. 

Nobody's  love,  nobody's  care, 
None  to  smooth  the  tangled  hair, 
Wandering  hungry  through  the  street, 
Treading  the  snow  with  cold,  bare  feet. 

O,  strange,  unequal  portioner  called  life!     Unjust  are 
its  awards,  and  inscrutable  its  decrees. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  ORPHAN'S  PRAYER,  OR  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSE. 

"This  is  a  fearful  night!  "  exclaimed  Dr.  Sinclare,  draw- 
ing his  cloak  more  closely  around  him  and  giving  his  horse 
a  spear  in  the  side,  which  the  spiteful  animal  resented  by 
pitching  the  rider  headlong  in  the  gutter.  Luckily  for  the 
doctor  the  water  was  frozen,  for  it  saved  him  from  soil- 
ing his  best  clothes. 

After  giving  his  horse  several  cuts  with  his  switch  to 
teach  him  better  manners,  he  placed  his  foot  in  the  stirrup 
and  was  about  to  mount  when  his  attention  was  attracted 
by  a  noise  in  the  alley.  "  Hark!  that  sounds  like  a  child's 
voice,"  he  exclaimed.  "Surely,  no  child  could  be  out  in 
a  night  like  this,  and  at  such  a  late  hour ;  some  little  boot- 
black I  suppose ;  but  whoever  it  is  seems  to  be  in  trouble ; 
I  will  go  and  see  what  it  is,  for  this  is  a  fearful  night  for  a 
child  to  be  out." 

"O,  God,  it  is  true?  or  do  my  eyes  deceive  me?"  he 
exclaimed,  gazing  down  upon  a  little  golden-haired  girl 
kneeling  in  a  bank  of  snow,  bare-headed,  barefooted,  all 
alone  in  the  black  hours  of  night,  with  eyes  uplifted,  and 
her  little  purple  hands,  stiff  with  cold,  reverently  pressed 

(164) 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  165 

together,  in  humble  supplication  to  that  merciful  Father 
in  heaven,  who  alone  watched  over  the  little  homeless 
outcast. 

The  little  suppliant  was  too  devout  in  her  devotions  to 
heed  anything  that  was  going  on  around  her,  and  Dr.  Sin- 
clare  remained  unobserved  until  she  was  through. 

Kind  reader,  these  are  the  identical  words  that  fell  from 
the  lips  of  this  faithful  child.  I  will  give  them  to  you  just 
as  they  were  given  to  me.  You  may  smile  if  you  will, 
but  could  the  whole  universe  possess  the  faith  of  this  little 
midnight  pleader,  this  terrestrial  globe  would  be  trans- 
formed into  a  paradise. 

"  Dear  good  Mr.  Lord,  I  am  a  little  girl  with  no  papa 
and  no  mamma  and  nobody  to  give  me  any  shoes  and 
dresses  like  other  little  girls.  I  had  a  buddy  Veary  once, 
but  granny  says  he  is  dead  and  's  gone  up  to  heaven  with 
some  little  children  in  a  boat,  and  now  I've  got  nobody  to 
love  me.  I  had  a  papa,  too;  but  he's  gone  up  there  to 
rest,  he  says.  I  wish  I  could  go,  too ;  for  I'm  awful  tired 
and  hungry  and  sleepy,  and  I  don't  know  what  else.  Dear 
good  Mr.  Lord,  please  give  me  another  buddy  Veary,  and 
another  papa,  just  like  the  one  that  is  already  dead ;  and 
please  give  me  my  daily  bread,  and  some  shoes  and  some 
dresses,  and  a  pretty  hat  and  a  doll,  and  lead  me  not  into 
temptation.  Amen." 

Dr.  Sinclare's  heart  was  touched  as  it  never  had  been 
before,  and  as  he  gazed  upon  the  little  homeless  outcast 


1 66  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

his  mind  wandered  to  Cave  Hill,  where  his  own  little  sun- 
ny-haired child  was  sleeping  beneath  the  buttercups  and 
violets ;  then  the  touching  words  of  the  poet  rushed  to  his 
mind,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  darkness,  a  pearly  drop 
might  have  been  seen  trembling  upon  his  eyelids. 

Alas !  I  am  an  orphan  now, 

With  naught  on  earth  to  cheer  my  heart ; 

No  father's  love,  no  mother's  joy, 
No  kin,  no  kind  to  take  my  part. 

My  lodging  is  the  cold,  cold  ground, 

I  eat  the  bread  of  charity  ; 
And  when  the  kiss  of  love  goes  'round, 

There  is,  alas  !  no  kiss  for  me. 

He  stooped  down  and  gathered  the  child  in  his  arms 
and  imprinted  a  kiss  upon  its  cold  brow. 

"Your  faith  shall  not  be  shaken,  little  one,"  said  he; 
"the  good  Lord  has  answered  your  prayer,  and  has  sent 
you  a  papa." 

"Are  you  going  to  be  my  papa?"  said  the  little  girl, 
nestling  in  his  bosom,  and  laying  her  little  cold  cheek  in 
his  great  whiskers. 

' '  Yes, "  said  the  doctor,  ' '  I  am  going  to  take  you  home 
with  me,  and  you  shall  be  my  little  girl,  and  I  am  going  to 
buy  you  shoes,  dresses,  dolls,  and  everything  you  want." 

"  Did  God  send  you?  " 

"Yes,  God  sent  me,  little  one;  He  heard  your  prayer 
and  has  answered  it." 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  1 67 

"He  is  a  very  good  Lord,  and  I'd  like  to  see  him," 
she  exclaimed;  "because  he  is  so  good  to  little  girls  who 
ain't  got  no  papa  and  mamma.*' 

"Now,"  said  the  doctor,  as  he  placed  her  in  the  saddle 
in  front  of  him,  and  almost  smothered  her  in  his  great, 
warm  cloak,  "you  must  tell  me  who  you  are,  and  what  you 
were  doing  out  in  the  streets  so  late  at  night." 

"I  ain't  nobody  but  a  little  girl,  and  my  name  is  Birdie. 
But  I'm  going  to  be  your  little  girl,  ain't  I  ?  " 

"Yes,  you  are  going  to  be  my  little  girl,"  said  the 
doctor,  drawing  the  cloak  around  her. 

"Do  you  ever  get  retoxicated ? "  said  she,  looking  up 
into  his  face. 

"No,  dear,  I  never  get  intoxicated,"  said  he,  with  a 
smile— "why?" 

•'Well,  I'm  awful  glad,"  she  replied,  drawing  a  long 
breath,  "because  you  won't  try  to  pull  all  the  hair  out  of 
my  head." 

"No,  darling,"  said  Dr.  Sinclare,  "I  would  riot  hurt  a 
hair  upon  your  head,  and  no  one  else  shall  if  I  can  help  it ; 
but  tell  me,  who  has  been  trying  to  pull  your  hair  out  ? 
They  did  not  succeed,  whoever  it  was,  for  you  have  plenty 
left  now.'' 

"  Why,  it  was  when  I  was  staying  with  Mrs.  Green,  an 
awful  bad  man  came  home  one  night  retoxicated  and  tried 
to  tear  all  the  hair  out  of  my  head,  and  said  that  I  should 
not  stay  there  any  more,  because  I  eat  up  all  the  bread." 


1 68  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

" My  poor  child, "  said  he,  "you  look  as  if  you  had  not 
seen  a  mouthful  for  a  month." 

"I  am  awful  hungry,"  she  replied,  "but  I  asked  that 
good  Mr.  Lord  to  give  me  some  bread,  and  he  will,  won't 
he?" 

"Yes,  darling,"  said  the  doctor,  smiling;  "but  you 
must  not  say  Mr.,  because  it  is  not  right;  He  is  your 
Father  in  heaven,  and  you  must  address  Him  as  such." 

Several  hours'  ride  brought  Dr.  Sinclare  to  his  beautiful 
home,  where  he  gave  his  horse  in  charge  of  his  valet.  He 
took  Birdie  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  into  the  house,  and 
placed  her  in  a  rocking-chair  before  the  glowing  fire  that 
snapped  and  blazed  in  the  wide  brass-rimmed  grate,  which 
shed  its  flickering  brightness  over  a  room  brilliant  and  lux- 
uriant as  any  palace  chamber  in  the  Arabian  Nights.  It 
enchanted  and  dazzled  the  eyes  that  had  only  seen  art  and 
luxury  through  the  shop-windows,  while  standing  weary 
and  sick  at  heart  on  the  muddy  pavements  outside. 

"Ain't  this  nice,"  she  exclaimed,  clapping  her  little 
frozen  hands  and  looking  around  the  beautiful  room. 
"  It  looks  like  heaven ;  O,  I  wish  Mrs.  Green  could  see  it. 
Am  I  always  to  stay  here — as  long  as  I  live  ?  " 

"Yes,  always,"  replied  the  doctor,  gently,  "for  you 
are  my  little  girl  now." 

"This  fire  is  awful  nice,"  said  she,  spreading  her  little 
purple  fingers  out  to  the  glowing  coals.  "  Do  you  have  a 
great  big  fire  like  this  all  the  time?  " 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  169 

"  Yes,  when  it  is  very  cool,"  the  doctor  replied. 

"  Well,  I'm  awful  glad  I'm  going  to  be  your  little  girl, " 
she  said,  patting  the  head  of  a  large  Newfoundland  dog 
that  lay  upon  the  rich  carpet  at  her  feet,  and  whose  black, 
shaggy  mane  fairly  glistened  in  the  warm  firelight.  When 
they  entered  the  room  he  had  raised  his  massive,  black 
head  and  seemed  to  say  in  his  silent,  dumb  language, ' '  Wel- 
come, little  mistress,  to  your  new  home,  for  I  know  you 
are  kind  and  gentle." 

The  portraits  that  hung  in  gilt  frames  upon  the  wall 
seemed  also  to  smile  down  upon  the  lonely  little  stranger 
and  exclaim,  "  We  are  glad  to  see  you,  little  fairy,  for  we 
know  things  will  go  on  differently  now,  and  there  will  be 
many  changes  in  this  grand  old  place." 

"We  would  like  to  make  a  change,"  said  George  Wash- 
ington, "  for  we  have  hung  in  one  place  so  long  staring  at 
each  other  that  we  are  tired." 

"I  would  like  to  be  removed  near  the  door,"  said 
Henry  Clay,  "where  I  can  watch  the  waving  bluegrass 
when  the  springtime  comes,  and  see  the  flashing  of  the 
reapers'  blades  gleaming  amid  Kentucky's  golden  sheaves." 

"And  place  me  opposite  the  window,"  said  Robert  E. 
Lee,  "and  open  the  shutters,  that  I  may  behold  the  beau- 
ties of  God's  fair  creation,  where  I  can  see  the  sun  rise 
every  morning  and  watch  the  flowers  burst  into  life  and 
beauty,  and  see  the  busy  bees  trim  their  shining  wings  in 
the  golden  sunlight." 


I/O  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

"I,  too,  would  like  to  make  a  change,"  said  the  old 
French  clock  on  the  mantel.  "I  would  like  to  have  my 
face  washed,  for  I  have  been  ticking  away  for  twenty  years 
and  haven't  had  my  face  and  hands  washed  a  half  dozen 
times  since  my  old  mistress  died.  My  master  is  always 
gone,  and  the  house-maid  takes  no  notice  of  me  save  when 
she  wants  to  consult  me  about  the  hour  when  her  beau  is 
expected,  and  I  had  concluded  to  stop  this  very  night,  but 
I've  changed  my  mind  now,  and,  thinks  I  to  myself,  I  will 
tick  on,  for  I  see  some  bright  little  eyes  watching  me,  and 
I  know  there  will  be  a  change." 

Little  Birdie's  eyes  brightened  up  when  Dr.  Sinclare 
came  into  the  room  and  said,  "  Come,  little  one,  and  let  us 
see  if  we  can't  find  some  supper; "  and  he  took  her  in  the 
dining-room  where  the  table  was  bountifully  filled  and  was 
tempting  enough  to  satisfy  the  most  fastidious. 

"Ain't  this  nice."  said  she,  as  he  placed  before  her  a 
nice,  hot,  buttered  roll  and  a  piece  of  tempting  roast, 
together  with  fried  chicken  and  smoking  coffee  flavored 
with  delicious  cream. 

"Are  you  very  hungry,  child?"  said  the  doctor,  as  he 
enjoyed  watching  her  devour  the  food  as  fast  as  he  put  it 
on  her  plate. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  am  awful  hungry,"  she  replied;  "I  wish 
Mrs.  Green  had  some  of  this,  and  Bobby  and  Kate  and 
all  the  children,  for  I  know  they  are  hungry,  too." 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  I/ 1 

"Christmas-gift!  Mars  Joe,"  said  a  voice,  as  Dr.  Sin- 
dare  stepped  from  his  room  the  next  morning  into  the 
passage. 

"  I'll  be  bound  for  you,  Aunt  Lucy,"  said  he,  smiling; 
"you  are  always  looking  out  for  number  one  when 
Christmas  comes  around." 

"Yes,  Mars  Joe,  I'se  bound  to  have  a  present  when 
Christ  comes,  and  you  know  dis  old  darkey  has  been  mighty 
faithful  dis  whole  year,  bless  the  Lord." 

"  Well,  come  along,  Aunt  Lucy,"  said  the  doctor,  "for 
I  expect  you  have  earned  a  present  this  morning.  I 
know  you  have  been  on  the  lookout  for  me  for  at  least  two 
hours." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,  Mars  Joe,"  said  the  old  cook, 
courtesying  low,  as  the  doctor  placed  a  bundle  in  her 
hand. 

"I  know'd  I'd  get  one,"  she  continued,  opening  the 
package.  ' '  Well,  well,  help  my  life,  if  it  ain't  a  nice 
black  bombazine.  I  know  all  the  niggers  is  gwine  to  look 
at  dis  darkey  with  a  jealous  eye.  Look  !  look  !  Mars  Joe  ! 
what  is  dat  ?  O,  Lord,  it's  a  ghost!  " 

"What  is  what?"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  in  surprise, 
thinking  the  old  negro  had  lost  her  senses. 

"Why,  I  saw  something  standing  right  in  that  door, 
and  it  looked  just  like  an  angel,  and  when  I  spoke  it  flew, 
yes,  Mars  Joe,  it  flew.  Uncle  Jack  said  there  was  things 
to  be  seen  in  this  house,  and  now  I  believe  it." 


1/2  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A   NAME. 

"Don't  act  the  fool,"  said  the  doctor,  "but  tell  me 
what  you  saw." 

"  O,  I  don't  know,  Mars  Joe  ;  it  looked  just  like  a  ghost, 
and  I  believe  it  was  the  spirit  of  our  little  Jessie,  for  it 
looked  just  like  her,  and  had  on  the  same  little  gown  she 
used  to  wear,  all  ruffled  around  the  tail.  O,  Lord,  I  know 
something  is  gwine  to  happen,  kase  dey  say  it's  a  sign  of 
death  to  see  a  ghost,  and  I  know  I  am  gwine  to  die,  and 
my  new  dress  won't  do  me  no  good  after  all ;  some  other 
nigger  will  get  it." 

"Are  you  sure  it  flew,  Aunt  Lucy?"  said  the  doctor, 
amused  at  Aunt  Lucy's  exaggerations. 

"  Yes,  Mars  Joe,  Fse  sure  of  it,  as  sure  as  I'm  living." 

"  Well,  you  are  not  afraid  of  an  angel,  Aunt  Lucy,  are 
you?"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  Mars  Joe,  when  I  think  they've  come  for  me." 

"  Well,  if  that  angel  were  to  appear  before  you  now, 
would  you  be  frightened?" 

"Law,  Mars  Joe,  I'd  die." 

"Well,  you  had  better  prepare  to  die,  then,"  said  he, 
smiling,  "for  I  am  going  to  catch  it  and  bring  it  in  to  see 
you." 

The  doctor  had,  by  this  time,  guessed  who  the  angel 
was  that  had  given  the  old  negro  such  a  fright. 

"Ah,  you  can't  fool  me,"  said  old  Aunt  Lucy,  mak- 
ing her  way  to  the  kitchen.  "You  white  folks  pretends 
like  you  don't  believe  in  such  things,  but  I'se  too  old,  and 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  1/3 

I'se  seen  too  many  sights  to  hab  wool  pulled  over  my 
eyes." 

"Well,  Aunt  Lucy,  are  you  ready  to  die?"  said  Dr. 
Sinclare,  coming  into  the  kitchen  with  little  Birdie  upon 
his  shoulder,  her  long  hair  flowing  in  ringlets  over  her 
shoulders,  and  the  long,  snowy  gown  of  the  little  dead 
Jessie  hanging  over  her  feet.  She  really  looked  more  like 
an  angel  than  anything  else  she  could  have  been  com- 
pared to. 

"Here  is  your  angel;  does  she  look  dangerous?" 

"De  good  Lord!"  said  old  Aunt  Lucy,  throwing  up 
her  hands,  "if  dat  don't  beat  all.  Mars  Joe,  where  did 
you  find  dat  dear  little  thing?" 

"This  is  my  Christmas  present,"  said  he,  kissing  the 
little  girl.  "You  are  not  afraid  of  her  now,  are  you?" 

"  No,  Mars  Joe,  not  now;  but  dis  old  darkey  aren't  got 
such  a  scare  in  a  long  time." 

' '  I  have  been  looking  for  her  wings,  but  have  not  been 
able  to  find  any,"  said  he,  laughing.  "Are  you  sure  she 
flew  just  now,  Aunt  Lucy." 

"Now,  Mars  Joe,  I  know  I  nebber  will  hear  de  last  of 
dat,  and  I  spect  de  next  thing  I  hear,  de  white  folks  will 
hab  it  in  de  papers,  and  everybody  will  laugh  at  dis  old 
fool  nigger." 

"No,  no,  Aunt  Lucy,"  the  doctor  replied,  "I  will 
promise  never  to  tell  it  on  you,  if  you  will  be  good  to  the 
little  angel,  and  take  good  care  of  her." 


1/4  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

So  it  was  Christmas-day,  one  year  from  the  dreadful 
night  she  made  her  escape  from  Granny  Nailar,  the  hero- 
ine of  our  story  was  installed  in  her  new  and  happy  home. 

Dr.  Sinclare  has  often  assured  his  friends  that  it  was  the 
happiest  Christmas  he  ever  spent.  Old  Aunt  Lucy  lived 
to  wear  the  bombazine  dress,  and  to  bless  the  day  the  lit- 
tle angel  came  into  the  house ;  but  the  old  darkey  is  dead 
now,  and  when  the  angel  of  death  came  sure  enough, 
she  said,  "Honey,  de  real  angel  has  come  at  last,  and  I 
am  gwine  wid  him,  bless  de  Lord!  " 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE   DYING    CHILD  IN    THE   LONE   HOUSE    IN   THE    MOUNTAINS. 

Seven  years  have  been  laid  away  in  the  vault  of  time 
since  that  sweet  May  evening  when  first  I  saw  Dr.  St. 
George  a  prostrate  figure  upon  the  grave  of  his  wife. 
Seven  long  years — weary  and  unhappy  years — since  he 
left  her  silent  and  alone  in  the  quiet,  peaceful  city  of  the 
dead.  The  violets  and  buttercups  have  almost  hidden  her 
grave  from  view,  and  the  dark-green  ivy  trails  gracefully 
from  the  beautiful  monument  that  stands  like  a  finger 
pointing  to  her  resting-place  beyond  the  clouds.  Seven 
long  years  that  young  husband  has  carried  in  his  heart  the 
memory  of  that  sad,  sweet  face  that  lies  beneath  that 
mossy  grave  upon  the  brow  of  the  hill.  Seven  years  of 
undying  energy  and  perseverance,  and  Dr.  St.  George  has 
labored  in  vain  for  the  recovery  of  his  stolen  child.  The 
detectives  with  all  their  shrewdness  and  strategy  have  given 
up  the  chase. 

It  was  the  twenty-fifth  of  May.  Winter  had  stepped 
from  his  frozen  throne  and  yielded  his  scepter  to  Queen 
May.  The  snow  and  the  ice  were  as  a  dream  that  had 
been  told,  and  all  nature  had  arisen  from  its  slumbers. 

(175) 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

Yes,  it  was  the  twenty-fifth  of  May — fair,  sweet  May. 
Dr.  St.  George  sat  alone  in  his  office  with  his  head  bowed 
in  his  hands.  He  had  grown  old  with  suffering,  and, 
though  only  thirty,  his  black,  glossy  hair  is  considerably 
sprinkled  with  gray.  As  he  sat  there,  perhaps  he  was 
thinking  of  that  day,  seven  years  ago,  when  he  stood  at 
his  office  window  and  watched  the  glorious  sunset.  That 
same  sun  was  setting  to-day,  and  he  saw  it  as  he  did  on 
the  evening  our  story  opened,  sinking  into  a  bed  of  flame, 
leaving  in  its  stead  snowflakes  edged  with  fire.  But 
the  sunset  and  the  flowers  held  no  charm  for  him  now. 
There  were  no  sweet  smiles  to  greet  him  when  he  returned 
at  night,  weary  and  worn,  and  no  loving  eyes  to  look  up 
into  his  own,  no  sweet  words  of  encouragement  to  fall 
upon  his  ear,  and  no  baby  arms  to  cling  around  his  neck, 
and  no  baby  lips  to  murmur  the  name  of  "  father."  Ah, 
well,  no  wonder  he  looked  sad  to-day  !  No  wonder  that 
bruised  heart  is  bleeding  afresh,  and  the  tears  again  have 
found  a  channel  down  his  cheeks,  for  a  letter  is  lying  open 
upon  his  table.  Peruse  it,  kind  reader,  that  your  sympa- 
thetic heart  may  go  out  in  sympathy  for  this  sorrow- 
stricken  man ;  but  "it  is  only  those  who  have  drunk 
deeply  of  the  cup  of  affliction  that  can  melt  at  the  sight  of 

another's  sorrows." 

"  MAY  24TH. 
"Dr.  R.  S.  St.  George: 

"  DEAR  SIR  :  I  know  you  will  be  surprised  at  the  reception  of  this  letter, 
and  trust,  kind  sir,  that  you  may  be  prepared  to  receive  it.     I  am  sorry  it 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  I// 

has  fallen  to  my  lot  to  pen  these  sad  lines  to  you,  and  being  a  stranger,  I 
hardly  know  how  to  express  myself  under  such  painful  and  peculiar  cir- 
cumstances. Your  child,  which  was  stolen  from  you  seven  years  ago,  is 
now  in  my  possession,  and  is  expected  to  die.  If  you  wish  to  see  her 
alive,  you  will  have  to  hasten  as  quickly  as  possible.  She  was  left  here 
by  a  man  unknown  to  me,  saying  that  it  was  your  child,  and  that  he  had 
taken  it  through  revenge,  but  had  repented  of  the  crime,  and  to  assure 
you  that  he  had  treated  it  well  from  its  infancy  up. 

"  This  is  all  the  information  I  can  give  you.  The  child  was  in  a  dying 
condition  when  he  brought  her  to  my  house,  and  I  hasten  to  write  as  soon 
as  possible.  Come  to  Glendale  Station,  and  there  take  a  cab  to  Castle 
Grove,  which  is  twenty  miles  from  the  railroad,  and  directly  west  of 
Glendale  Station. 

"  I  remain,  very  truly  yours, 

"  JAMES  HARDAMORE." 

"If  it  is  true,"  said  he,  folding  up  the  letter,  "  I  thank 
heaven  for  my  child,  even  should  she  come  to  me  in  the 
sable  robes  of  death.  I  will  lay  her  by  her  sainted  mother,, 
who,  I  expect,  has  already  taken  her  in  her  arms." 

ife'^e^^c^^c^p^c^c^c^t: 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  he  arrived  at  Glendale 
Station,  where  he  hired  a  hack  and  started  on  his  lonely, 
dreary  journey,  with  a  thousand  conflicting  emotions 
throbbing  through  his  brain,  and  a  thousand  undefined 
fears  in  his  heart.  A  long  drive  through  a  dreary,  hilly 
country,  with  nothing  to  greet  his  ear  but  the  dismal  hoot- 
ing of  the  owl,  and  the  unearthly  screams  of  the  night- 
hawk,  brought  him,  weary  and  worn,  to  the  spot  where 
he  was  directed-.  It  was  late  at  night,  and  drizzling  rain., 
12 


1/8  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

when  he  reached  the  spot.  He  looked  around  as  he 
descended.  What  a  dreary,  wild,  lonely  spot  for  his  dar- 
ling to  die  in !  All  around  him  lay  the  broken,  hilly 
country,  and  the  tall,  shaggy  cedars  stood  like  sentinels  of 
grief  through  the  deep,  misty  fog.  A  moment  more  and 
he  stood  at  the  threshold  of  the  very  house — the  place 
where  his  darling  lay  dying,  or  perhaps  dead.  A  dreary, 
solitary  dwelling,  with  no  other  human  habitation  near, 
with  no  sweet  music  of  children's  voices,  no  songs  of  birds, 
no  spreading  trees  or  flowers  to  enliven  the  spot.  The 
house  was  built  of  old  gray  stone,  irregular  in  design.  It 
belonged  to  no  particular  order  of  architecture ;  it  was  old 
and  quaint,  and  the  green  moss  that  grew  out  of  the  crev- 
ices gave  it  an  odd,  picturesque  appearance.  As  he  walked 
up  the  old  weather-beaten  steps,  he  wondered  how  any 
one  who  loved  this  fair,  bright  world  could  have  chosen  a 
spot  so  desolate  upon  which  to  build  a  house.  The  splash- 
ing of  a  waterfall,  the  hooting  of  an  owl,  and  the  barking 
of  a  fox  were  the  only  sounds  that  broke  the  perfect  and 
indescribable  silence  that  reigned  around. 

He  paused  for  a  moment  and  put  his  ear  to  the  key- 
hole, but  no  sound  came.  A  light  was  faintly  glimmering 
through  the  broken  windows.  He  raised  his  hand  to 
knock,  and  then  strange  thoughts  came  into  his  mind. 
What  if  there  were  robbers  in  that  house,  and  they  had 
written  this  letter  to  entrap  him  ?  If  so,  he  had  nothing  to 
defend  himself  with.  But  he  soon  dispelled  such  thoughts, 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  179 

and  gave  a  tap  upon  the  door.  After  some  minutes  he 
heard  footsteps,  and  presently  the  door  was  opened  by  an 
elderly,  weatherbeaten  looking  man. 

"I  have  been  summoned  to  this  house,"  said  the  doc- 
tor, "to  see  my  dying  child.  Am  I  at  the  right  place?" 

The  man  bowed  low  and  said,  "If  you  are  Dr.  St. 
George,  you  are  the  right  man." 

"I  am  Dr.  St.  George,  and  if  what  you  have  written 
to  me  is  true,  let  me  see  my  child  without  delay,"  said  the 
doctor,  firmly. 

"It  is  true,"  said  the  man,  closing  the  door  and  beg- 
ging the  doctor  to  follow  him. 

"Is  she  still  living?" 

"Yes,  but  she  is  very  low;  don't  think  she  can  stand 
it  much  longer,  and  we  have  done  all  we  could  do  for  her, 
poor  child." 

Dr.  St.  George  did  not  speak  any  more,  but  his  heart 
throbbed  wildly  as  he  followed  him  through  a  long,  dark 
passage,  and  then  into  a  comfortable-looking  room  where 
a  candle  was  flickering  dimly  upon  the  mantel-piece.  In 
one  corner  of  the  room  was  a  little  bed  upon  which  lay  a 
beautiful,  dying  child,  and  an  old  woman  sitting  by  the 
bed  bathing  its  temples. 

"You  will  please  leave  the  room,"  said  the  doctor, 
and  they  immediately  obeyed  his  command.  Then  he 
knelt  down  and  kissed  the  white  lips  of  the  little  sufferer. 
As  he  did  so  the  tears  streamed  down  his  cheeks  and 


ISO  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

dropped  upon  the  coverlet.  He  knew  that  she  was  dying, 
and  that  no  earthly  power  could  stay  the  cold  hand  of 
death.  And  he  felt,  too,  that  it  was  more  than  he  could 
bear,  to  be  deprived  of  her;  that  she  should  be  taken 
away  from  him  just  as  she  was  restored.  Yet  he  thanked 
his  heavenly  Father  that  she  was  restored  to  him  even  in 
death,  that  he  might  hold  her  in  his  arms  once  more  and 
hear  her  murmur  the  name  of  father.  And  he  thought, 
too,  how  there  would  be  rejoicing  in  heaven,  for  the  gates 
of  heaven  were  left  ajar,  and  that  sainted  mother  was 
watching  and  waiting  for  her  loved  one ;  and  that  no  ruth- 
less hands  could  snatch  it  from  her  embrace. 

He  gave  her  some  stimulant  which  seemed  to  revive 
her ;  then  he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  pressed  his  lips  to 
hers,  so  cold  and  white.  She  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  full 
of  love  and  gratitude,  and  said :  ' '  What  makes  you  cry, 
good  man?  Are  you  sorry  that  me  is  going  to  die? 
Don't  cry  any  more,  'cause  there  is  lots  of  little  children 
up  in  heaven,  and  mamma  is  there,  you  know,  and  when 
I  get  there  I  am  going  to  tell  her  what  a  good  man  you 
are,  and  how  good  you  was  to  her  little  Mamie." 

"My  darling,"  said  he,  pressing  her  to  his  heart,  "I 
am  your  father,  and  you  are  my  own  little  girl.  Now  call 
me  papa  once,  darling,  let  me  hear  you  say  it."  She  laid 
her  little  arms  around  his  neck,  and  smiling,  said: 

"Are  you  my  papa,  sure  enough?  I  did  not  know  I 
had  a  papa." 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  l8l 

"Yes,  darling,  I  am  your  papa, "  said  he.  bending 
down  and  kissing  her  cheek. 

"  I  am  glad  you  came,  papa,"  said  she,  smiling;  "you 
just  got  here  to  see  me  before  I  died,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"Papa  don't  want  his  little  girl  to  die,"  said  the  doctor, 
choking  back  the  lump  that  came  up  in  his  throat.  "He 
won't  have  a  little  girl  to  love  him  then," 

"But  I  can  love  you  when  I  am  in  heaven,  papa,  just 
as  well;  and  won't  it  be  funny,"  said  she,  with  a  far-away 
look,  "for  a  little  girl  no  bigger  than  I  to  be  so  far  up  in 
the  sky,  and  looking  right  down  on  everybody?"  and 
she  closed  her  eyes  and  laid  her  head  back  upon  his  shoul- 
der. Presently  she  opened  them  again,  but  death  was  in 
them  ;  the  fire  had  gone  out,  and  they  looked  ghastly  and 
sunken. 

"  I  love  you,  papa,"  faintly  came  from  her  lips.  And 
those  were  the  last  words  she  spoke.  The  great  Healer 
had  come  and  had  taken  her  in  His  arms,  and  bore  her  pure 
spirit  to  that  merciful  Father  in  heaven,  who  said,  "Suffer 
little  children  to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not,  for 
of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 

He  laid  her  gently  back  upon  the  pillow  and  knelt  down 
by  the  bed  and  prayed  long  and  fervently,  asking  God  to 
give  him  strength  to  bear  this  great  sorrow. 

"I  love  you,  papa."  Those  sweet  words  were  whis- 
pered in  his  ears  just  as  her  spirit  passed  into  the  sanctum 
sanctorum  of  rest ;  and  long  after  the  grass  and  the  flow- 


I  82  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

ers  had  covered  her  little  grave,  these  words  lingered 
around  his  heart.  He  can  hear  them  in  the  sighing  of  the 
wind,  in  the  music  of  the  birds,  in  the  rippling  of  the 
waters.  It  is  whispered  to  him  even  upon  the  busy  streets. 
He  hears  the  words  above  all  the  jostle  and  noise  of  a 
great  city ;  but  comes  more  distinct  when  he  bends  over 
the  bed  of  a  suffering  patient. 

He  carried  her  home  and  laid  her  to  rest  in  a  little  nar- 
row bed  by  the  side  of  his  wife,  and  planted  flowers  over 
her  grave.  And  there  was  another  nine  days'  wonder! 
Many  were  rejoiced  that  he  had  recovered  his  child,  even 
though  he  had  to  lose  her ;  while  others  shook  their  heads 
doubtfully.  Dr.  St.  George  went  abroad  for  two  years, 
which  time  he  spent  in  traveling  through  Italy  and  France. 
When  he  returned  he  seemed  much  improved  by  the  sea- 
breezes,  for  his  health  had  become  very  much  impaired. 
His  friends  again  advised  him  to  marry  the  second  time, 
but  he  would  say,  "I  can  not  marry  a  woman  unless  I  have 
a  heart  to  give,  and  that  I  have  not ;  mine  lies  buried  in 
Cave  Hill  Cemetery, "  and  with  this  his  friends  would  have 
to  be  contented  ;  for  the  memory  of  his  dead  wife  still 
remained  uneffaced,  and  her  dying  words  still  echoed  in 
his  ear,  "You  will  always  love  me  best,  Robert?" 

We  will  now  leave  him  alone  with  his  grief,  trusting 
that  time  may  pour  her  healing  balm  upon  his  bruised  and 
bleeding  heart,  and  he  may  yet  be  happy  in  the  love  of 
some  good  woman. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

BIRDIE'S  ADVENTURE — THE  MEETING  AT  THE  SPRING. 

Not  many  miles  from  Louisville,  Kentucky,  in  a  roman 
tic  and  picturesque  spot,  is  to  be  seen  a  beautiful  village 
whose  feet  are  daily  washed  by  the  waters  of  the  Ohio, 
and  the  steamers  glide  by  like  spirits  of  the  deep.  Their 
fluttering  wheels,  fringed  with  gold,  are  playing  with  the 
jeweled  fingers  of  the  sun,  shooting  its  gleams  in  sapphire 
depth.  A  beautiful  mountain  crest  rises  in  the  distance, 
dotted  here  and  there  with  white  cottages,  almost  hidden 
by  the  heavy  foliage.  At  the  base  a  mountain  torrent 
thunders  along,  foaming  and  dancing  and  leaping,  as  it 
pours  over  a  huge  rock  and  mingles  with  the  waters  of  the 
Ohio. 

For  miles  around  the  clink  of  the  reaper's  blade  is 
heard,  as  it  gleams  amid  autumn's  golden  sheaves,  and 
the  gentle  zephyrs  bathe  their  mystic  pinions  in  the  deli- 
cious perfume  of  the  clover  and  fan  the  heated  brow  of 
the  merry  reapers,  while  the  poppies  and  periwinkles  play 
hide  and  seek  in  the  tall,  rich  bluegrass,  finishing  a  master- 
piece of  nature  that  would  put  the  best  effort  of  Salvator 
Rosa  to  shame.  Upon  a  beautiful  grassy  slope,  near  the 

(183) 


184  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

banks  of  the  river,  rests  an  elegant  mansion,  almost  hidden 
by  dense  foliage  of  sugar-maples  and  cottonwood.  The 
clean  gravel  walks  wind  deviously  among  the  shrubs  from 
the  threshold  to  the  gate,  through  a  rich  carpeting  of 
waving  grass,  dotted  here  and  there  with  pyramids  of  arbor 
vitae  and  fir  cones.  Back  of  the  house  a  huge  sycamore, 
whose  mammoth  trunk  is  green  with  the  moss  of  many 
years,  reaches  its  long  arms  far  up  toward  the  heavens,  as 
if  imploring  a  blessing  upon  the  youthful  head  that  rested 
beneath  its  shade. 

A  little  further,  and  the  grape  had  climbed  into  a  wide- 
spreading  hawthorn  with  a  scraggy  trunk  and  lance-like 
weapons  hid  in  its  leaves ;  but  it  bore  a  gorgeous  wealth 
of  white  blossoms,  and  the  bees  mingled  melody  with  the 
welcome  fragrance.  An  impenetrable  canopy  of  cool, 
green  network  hung  gracefully  above  the  seat  at  the  root. 
Sloping  back  was  a  meadow  reaching  down  until  the  turf 
dipped  itself  in  the  cool,  gurgling  waters  of  the  brook, 
that  mourned  sweetly,  plaintively — perhaps  for  some  lost 
nymph. 

There  in  that  grand  old  place,  where  love  is  as  pure 
as  the  tuberoses  that  break  their  rich,  sweet  hearts  upon 
the  balmy  air;  music  that  charms  artist  ears  and  adds  to 
the  celestial  fire  of  the  poet's  day-dreams,  in  which  the  hours 
unfold,  beautiful  and  uncounted,  like  the  leaves  of  the 
multiflora ;  nights  that  are  hushed  in  sweet  repose  by  the 
soft-stealing  winds  that  tap  with  magic  fingers  the  chords 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  185 

of  the  ALolian  harp ;  gay  laughter  here  and  there ;  glad 
charity  with  all  things ;  meditation  now  and  then  to  deepen 
the  well-springs  of  the  mind  ;  the  open  air  always ;  baths 
of  warm,  golden  sunshine;  the  opal  sky  of  evening  with 
fancies  of  the  poet,  and  everywhere  perpetual  scenes  of  a 
delicious  rest,  hallowed  by  the  melting  strains  of  a  thousand 
birds  that  launch  out  every  morning  upon  the  radiance  of 
Aurora  from  the  house-top,  from  the  fields,  from  the  forest 
edges,  from  the  orchard  and  garden,  from  the  fences  running 
into  each  other,  clasping,  overlapping,  and  surging  together, 
like  a  thousand  strayed  notes  from  the  quivering  chords  of 
the  archangel's  harp,  all  singing  at  the  very  top  of  their 
voices,  as  if  inflamed  by  an  ecstacy  of  gladness  and  joy — 
there,  in  that  terrestrial  paradise,  rests  the  home  of  our 
"  Beautiful  Bird  Without  a  Name  " — though  ten  years  have 
been  laid  away  in  the  vault  of  time  since  last  we  saw  her 
tiny  feet  treading  the  winding  paths  and  graveled  walks — 
ten  years  since  that  dark  and  stormy  night  that  Dr.  Sin- 
clare  found  her  a  poor,  helpless  outcast,  shut  out  from  pity, 
love,  and  mercy,  into  the  cold,  cold  world,  without  home, 
without  friends,  without  food,  with  only  the  snow  for  her  bed, 
the  canopy  of  heaven  for  her  covering,  and  the  star  of  Beth- 
lehem for  her  lamp — nobody's  love,  nobody's  darling.  Ten 
times  the  star  of  Bethlehem  has  twinkled  and  blazed  in 
adoring  reverence,  and  the  church  bells  proclaimed  an  old 
year  dead  and  a  new  one  born.  Ten  times  the  meek-eyed  - 
daisies  struggled  through  the  April  snow,  and  bloomed, 


1 86  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

and  faded,  and  died.  Ten  times  has  summer's  steam 
engine  belched  out  its  fiery  stream  o'er  the  land,  and  win- 
ter's icy  chains  fettered  the  singing  brooks  and  hushed 
their  glad  music  into  silence.  Ten  years  since  Birdie 
Nobody  was  changed  into  Birdie  Sinclare.  And  those  ten 
years  of  delicate  nurture,  tender  care,  and  perfect  health, 
have  ripened  this  fair  child  into  a  maiden  of  wondrous 
beauty,  the  pride  and  joy  of  her  adopted  father,  who  spared 
neither  pains  nor  money,  nor  yet  severe  discipline,  to 
enrich  her  mind,  and  give  her  all  the  accomplishments  that 
could  be  bestowed  upon  her.  Her  intellect  and  manners 
expanded  and  improved  beneath  his  gentle  influence,  and 
each  day  she  became  dearer  to  him,  until  she  occupied 
every  chamber  in  his  old  heart,  and  he  had  not  only  a  play- 
thing and  pet  in  the  little  wild  bird  without  a  name,  but 
also  a  companion  and  equal,  capable  of  entering  with  him 
the  mazy  labyrinths  of  science,  and  astonishing  him  with 
the  wealth  of  her  richly-stored  mind.  Still,  in  everything 
pertaining  to  her  womanhood,  she  was  wholly  feminine, 
and  simple  as  a  child.  Now,  as  of  old,  she  bounds  through 
the  spacious  grounds,  and  trips  over  the  grassy  lawns  and 
up  the  stairs,  and  fills  the  old  house  with  a  world  of  melody 
and  sunshine. 

It  was  now  vacation,  and  she  was  home  on  a  visit ;  but 
she  was  never  idle,  for  when  she  was  not  walking,  or 
riding,  or  employed  in  beautifying  her  home,  or  working 
her  flowers,  she  would  devote  her  time  to  her  studies,  for 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  l8/ 

she  was  as  much  of  a  student  at  home  as  when  at  school. 
She  was  to  graduate  next  session,  and  she  must  make  the 
best  use  of  her  time,  she  said,  ' '  for  I  want  papa  to  be 
proud  of  me  one  of  these  days,  for  gracious  knows  I  have 
been  trouble  enough  to  him."  As  she  said  this  she  sighed 
and  dropped  mechanically  upon  the  seat  at  the  foot  of  the 
old  hawthorn,  and  laid  her  open  book  upon  her  knee; 
and  any  one  could  tell  by  the  expression  upon  her  face 
that  she  was  a  school-girl  trying  to  untangle  some  mathe- 
matical problem. 

As  she  sat  there  beneath  the  rustic  canopy  in  the  glo- 
rious summer  noon,  watching  the  shadows  creep  through 
the  network  and  fall  like  fairy's  feet  upon  the  velvet  grass, 
and  the  white  blossoms  of  the  hawthorn  showering  down 
upon  her  golden  hair  and  fair  white  arms,  like  a  perfumed 
shower  of  snow,  she  presented  a  picture  "fairer  than  a 
thought  of  Lancret's,  more  tranquil  than  a  dream  of 
Claud's,  and  a  loveliness  ethereal,  poetic,  such  as  Dante 
might  have  pictured  amid  the  angel  shadows  of  Paradise 
— Guido  Reni  have  beheld  flit  through  the  heaven  of  his 
visionary  thoughts." 

If  Titian  or  Velasquez  had  seen  her  as  she  sat  there,  the 
world  would  have  been  the  richer  by  an  immortal  work  of 
art.  Titian  alone  could  have  reproduced  those  rich,  marvel- 
ous colors,  that  perfect,  queenly  beauty.  He  would  have 
painted  the  picture,  and  the  world  would  have  raved  about 

beauty.     The  heavy  masses  of  golden  ringlets,  the  fair, 


1 88  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

white  face  with  the  rose  tint,  the  perfect  mouth,  with  its 
proud,  sweet,  imperial  yet  tender  lips ;  the  white,  dimpled 
chin ;  the  liquid  blue  eyes,  deep  and  thoughtful ;  the 
head  and  face  unrivaled  in  their  glorious  contour ;  the 
heavy,  dark  brows  that  fringed  her  violet  eyes ;  the  white 
neck,  half  hidden,  half  revealed,  by  the  coquettish  dress; 
the  white,  round  arms,  and  beautiful  hands — all  would 
have  struck  the  master  of  art.  Both  poet  and  painter 
would  have  loved  that  face,  for  it  was  a  loveliness  like  that 
of  the  delicate  tropic  flower  which  blooms  but  to  perish  in 
all  its  early  beauty — too  frail  for  the  storms  and  darkness 
of  night,  too  soilless  to  wither  on  earth. 

She  was  alone,  but  her  reverie  was  sweeter  than  any 
poet's  song  or  romancist's  story  could  have  told  her.  But 
the  clear,  ringing  voice  of  a  chanticleer  breaks  through 
the  thread  of  her  thoughts,  and  she  raised  her  head  and 
smiled,  for  the  spring  chickens,  with  yellow-velvet  jackets 
and  blue,  glassy  eyes,  fluttered  over  her  very  feet,  and  the 
motherly  old  hen,  who  distrusted  every  other  creature, 
clucked  close  to  the  very  folds  of  her  dress. 

Xot  far  off  lay  her  Newfoundland  dog,  with  his  black, 
shaggy  head  resting  upon  one  paw,  dozing  with  one  eye 
open,  watching  a  couple  of  kittens  that  were  making  havoc 
with  his  mistress'  hat-strings,  while  a  venerable  turkey 
gobbler  was  watching,  with  a  jealous  eye,  a  dandy  peacock 
that  \vas  sunning  his  gorgeous  plumage  and  making  eyes 
at  his  lady-love. 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  189 

In  the  distance  a  Shetland  pony  was  grazing  upon  the 
delicious  bluegrass.  Now  and  then  he  would  raise  his 
head  and  neigh,  as  he  saw  other  horses  pass  his  sancto- 
rum. 

"  You  dear  old  darling,"  said  Birdie,  going  up  and  pat- 
ting him  on  his  sleek,  fat  neck,  and  running  her  white, 
jeweled  fingers  through  his  long,  silken  mane,  "I  know 
you  are  lonely  and  would  like  to  go  out  a  little  to  stretch 
your  limbs,  and  you  shall  go  this  very  minute;  "  and  she 
slipped  the  bridle  over  his  head  and  led  him  up  to  the  stile 
to  be  saddled,  and  then  ran  up  to  her  room  to  put  on  her 
riding-habit.  She  had  been  gone  only  a  few  minutes 
when  she  returned  dressed  in  a  neat,  plain  riding-habit,  fit- 
ting close  to  the  perfect  figure,  showing  every  graceful  line 
and  curve.  Birdie  possessed  that  rare  accomplishment 
among  women — a  graceful  seat  on  horseback — and  Dr. 
Sinclare  could  not  help"  noticing  with  vain  pride  the  admir- 
ing glances  cast  upon  his  beautiful,  accomplished  daugh- 
ter as  they  rode  out  together.  He  saw  how  completely 
she  was  queen  of  society.  Unusual  homage  followed  her. 
She  was  the  observed  of  all  observers ;  every  one  seemed 
to  pause  and  look  at  her.  Dr.  Sinclare  heard  repeatedly, 
as  they  rode  along,  the  question,  ' '  Who  is  that  beautiful 
girl?"  Every  one  of  note  or  distinction  contrived  to 
speak  to  her.  Dr.  Sinclare  arrived  just  in  time  to  assist 
Birdie  in  the  saddle,  and  before  she  had  time  to  give  the 
signal,  Lightning  stuck  his  hoofs  in  the  ground  and  was 


igO  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

soon  flying  through  the  air,  bearing  his  young  mistress 
like  a  queen  through  the  rich  meadows  and  tangled  woods, 
leaving  the  doctor  gazing  over  the  tops  of  his  glasses  to 
catch  the  last  glimpse  of  his  flying  heels. 

"That  girl  rides  entirely  too  fast,"  said  he,  as  he  entered 
the  house.  "  I  expect  nothing  but  that  she  will  be  brought 
home  some  day  with  her  limbs  broken." 

Birdie  was  a  good  rider,  and  had  no  fear  of  such  a  catas- 
trophe, and  in  five  minutes  she  was  out  of  sight. 

It  was  one  of  those  exquisite  evenings  when  to  live  and 
breathe  the  sweetness  of  the  air  is  rapture ;  when  the  old 
feel  young,  and  the  young  can  scarce  tread  soberly  upon 
the  ecstacy  of  mere  existence.  The  soft,  warm  breezes 
crept  around  Birdie  like  a  caress,  as  she  rode  slowly  along. 
She  had  now  checked  her  pony  and  was  riding  leisurely 
along  under  the  wide-spreading  boughs  of  a  line  of  cotton- 
wood,  the  turf  white  with  the  fallen  blossoms  of  the  haw- 
thorn, and  still  the  trees  were  bright  with  lingering  bloom. 
Further  on  in  the  green  heart  of  the  chase  came  a  little 
wood  of  maples  with  leafy  towers,  their  summit  aspiring  to 
the  blue  vault  of  heaven.  Beyond,  there  stretched  an  un- 
dulating expanse  of  open  sward,  with  here  a  beech  and 
there  an  oak  standing  up  against  the  summer's  sky  in  soli- 
tary grandeur — monarchs  of  the  woodland.  It  was  the 
paradise  of  squirrels,  rabbits,  and  wild  flowers.  Lightning 
knew  every  inch  of  those  woods,  for  he  and  his  mistress 
had  roamed  about  in  them  at  all  hours  and  in  all  weather ; 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  19 1 

sometimes  when  the  snow  lay  deep  in  the  hollows,  and  the 
first  of  the  wild  snowdrops  showed  pale  on  the  topmost 
ridges  where  the  sun  had  touched  them. 

Lightning  was  accustomed  to  take  his  ease  in  these 
woods ;  the  halter  was  thrown  over  a  limb,  while  Birdie 
gathered  wild  flowers  or  sat  beneath  the  shade  of  the  trees, 
botanizing,  entomologizing,  sketching,  or  musing,  as  her 
fancy  prompted.  Her  childhood  and  girlhood  had  been 
passed  lonely,  save  in  the  companionship  of  her  governess, 
who  possessed  every  amiable  quality  except  the  power  to 
amuse,  and  Birdie  had  learned  to  find  her  own  amusements 
and  her  own  occupations,  more  especially  when  Dr.  Sin- 
clare  was  away  from  home.  In  these  woods  she  had 
learned  her  lesson,  day  after  day,  from  early  spring  to 
latest  autumn.  Here  she  had  read  her  favorite  poets ; 
here  she  had  become  familiar  with  all  that  is  practical  and 
interesting  in  the  history  of  flowers  and  insects.  The 
woods  had  been  her  playroom  and  study  ever  since  she 
had  become  queen  of  that  new  home.  To-day  she  let 
Lightning  travel  his  slowest  pace,  stumbling  a  little  now 
and  then  in  a  sleepy  way,  and  recovering  himself  with  a 
jerk.  Presently  he  paused  to  take  a  drink  from  a  cool, 
clear  stream  that,  bubbling  and  dancing  over  the  snowy 
pebbles,  gushed  from  a  rock  at  the  foot  of  a  large  oak  tree. 
"How  I  envy  you,  Lightning!"  said  she;  "for  I  am 
awful  thirsty,  and  that  water  is  so  tempting  I  think  I  shall 
participate,  for  it  is  not  often  one  is  blessed  with  such  cool 


192  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

spring-water  as  this;  ''  and  she  threw  her  bridle  loose  upon 
his  neck  and  sprang  to  the  ground.  Going  up  to  the  tree 
she  gathered  some  leaves  and  pinned  them  together  with 
thorns,  forming  a  cup,  which  she  held  to  catch  some  of  the 
sparkling  water  that  was  falling  upon  a  rock  beneath,  break- 
ing into  a  thousand  snowy  sprays,  when  her  attention  was 
attracted  by  a  noise  just  behind  her ;  and  before  she  had 
time  to  look  around,  a  little  black  pointer  sprang  out  of 
the  bushes,  and  startled  her  so  she  dropped  her  rustic  cup 
and  it  floated  down  the  stream. 

"  I  am  sorry  my  dog  frightened  you, "  said  a  young  man, 
stepping  from  a  cliff  on  the  opposite  side.  "Allow  me  to 
assist  you  ;  "  and  he  took  from  his  pocket  a  small  silver  cup 
and  placed  it  under  the  stream  and  caught  some  of  the 
sparkling  water,  and,  with  a  graceful  bow,  handed  the  cup 
to  Birdie. 

She  raised  her  beautiful  eyes  to  his,  and  with  a  sweet 
smile  said,  "Thank  you." 

"Such  eyes!  "  said  he  to  himself;  "  I  wish  she  would 
look  at  me  again  just  that  way." 

"  Whom  am  I  to  thank  for  this  unexpected  kindness  ?  " 
said  she,  as  she  handed  back  the  cup. 

' '  Pardon  me, "  said  he,  "I  should  have  at  first  introduced 
myself  before  I  assumed  the  honor  of  offering  your  lady- 
ship my  humble  services.  My  name  is  Elmore,  the  adopt- 
ed scapegoat  of  Judge  Elmore,  of  Louisville,  Kentucky." 

"And  I  am  the  adopted  wild  bird  of  Dr.  Sinclare,  who 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  193 

ventured  too  early  from  its  feathery  nest,  and  being  too 
young  to  fly,  Avas  captured  by  a  bird  of  different  plumage, 
who  was  generous  enough  to  furnish  me  with  an  appella- 
tion,"  said  she,  laughing,  "and  one,  too,  I  am  proud  of," 
she  added,  with  a  blush. 

The  young  man  opened  his  large,  brown  eyes,  and  a 
flush  came  upon  his  face  as  he  exclaimed: 

"And  this  is  Miss  Sinclare,  of  whom  I  have  heard  so 
much  since  my  return  to  the  city." 

"Indeed,"  said  she,  somewhat  abashed;  "I  was  not 
aware  of  being  such  a  notorious  character.  I  am  sure  it  is.- 
not  my  intention  or  desire  to  be  the  eighth  wonder  of  the 
world,  and  I  don't  see  in  what  way  I  have  committed  my- 
self, Mr.  Elmore,  for  I  am  only  a  school-girl,  and  my  ac- 
quaintance has  been  extremely  limited  outside  the  school- 
room and  my  father's  house?" 

"Young  ladies  are  never  aware  of  such  things,"  said": 
he,  smiling  down  into  her  face;    "but  is  it  possible,  Miss, 
Sinclare,  that  you  have  never  been  informed  of  the  uncom- 
mon homage  that  follows  you  from  the  school-room  to 
your  father's  house?" 

"You  have  been  the  first  to  convey  to  my  unsophisticat- 
ed ears  the  unfortunate  intelligence,"  said  she,  somewhat 
stiffly,  with  a  slight  curl  of  her  pretty  lips. 

"Why  do  you  call  it  unfortunate,  Miss  Sinclare?"  said- 
he.  "  I  thought  young  ladies  were  fond  of  homage." 

"  And  so  they  are,"  exclaimed  Birdie,  firmly.      "Some: 
13 


194  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

of  them  may  bask  in  the  sunshine  of  flattery,  for  the 
tongue  of  man  well  utters  its  language.  As  for  myself,  I 
deny  the  accusation,  for  I  detest  it.  Flatterers  are  like 
bees ;  they  carry  both  honey  and  a  sting  with  their  sweets 
upon  their  wing.  But  they  are  unlike  the  bee  in  one 
respect:  they  poison  the  flower  on  which  they  alight,  and 
leave  it  to  wither  and  die,  as  they  seek  new  victims  in  fresh 
pastures." 

"But  you  should  not  condemn  all,  Miss  Sinclare ;  you 
should  not  call  a  man's  true  sentiments  flattery,  for  when 
one  speaks  from  the  impulse  of  the  heart,  and  speaks  what 
he  honestly  believes  is  true,  we  can  not  call  it  flattery." 

To  this  Birdie  made  no  reply,  but  said,  "I  will  have  to 
go,  Mr.  Elmore ;  will  you  assist  me  on  my  pony?" 

To  this  the  young  man  replied,  ' '  Certainly,  Miss  Sin- 
clare, with  great  pleasure ;  but  I  do  not  see  him,  I  fear  he 
has  run  off  and  left  you.  How  stupid  of  me  to  stand  here 
and  let  your  pony  get  away,  right  under  my  eyes !  I  am 
so  sorry,  Miss  Sinclare;  will  you  forgive  my  stupidity?" 

But  he  was  not  sorry  one  bit,  and  felt  guilty  all  the 
while,  for  he  saw  the  pony  when  he  walked  off,  and  could 
have  caught  him  very  easily ;  but  he  thought  how  nice  it 
would  be  to  walk  home  with  Miss  Sinclare,  for  it  would 
not  do  to  let  her  go  alone  through  the  woods  two  miles ; 
besides  it  was  growing  late. 

"Do  not  blame  yourself,  Mr.  Elmore,"  said  Birdie, 
"it  was  all  my  fault.  I  have  been  accustomed  to  leaving 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  195 

him  unfastened,  and  he  has  never  left  me  before.  I  sup- 
pose he  got  tired  of  waiting;  but  it  does  not  matter,  the 
roads  are  good,  and  I  do  not  mind  the  walk." 

"But  you  must  not  think  of  going  alone,"  said  the 
young  man.  "  If  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  accompany 
you  home." 

"I  am  sorry  to  put  you  to  the  trouble,"  said  she,  "and 
perhaps  it  is  throwing  you  out  of  your  way  home." 

"  Trouble !  "  said  he,  half  vexed  at  her  for  the  remark ; 
"  if  this  is  trouble,  I  ask  not  for  pleasure,  Miss  Sinclare, 
and  only  pray  that  they  may  come  thicker  and  faster,  and 
each  day  be  crowned  with  troubles  just  like  this.  These  are 
my  true  sentiments,  Miss  Sinclare,  so  don't  place  me  on 
that  abominable  list  of  yours,  you  call  flatterers;  but  you 
will  have  to  lead  the  way,  I  am  afraid  I  would  not  make  a 
good  pilot  through  these  woods." 

"I  will  be  pilot!"  said  she,  "for  I  know  every  pig 
path,  and  have  traversed  them  in  my  childish  rambles  from 
one  end  to  the  other." 

Veary  Elmore  had  seen  a  great  many  faces  in  his  life, 
both  in  real  life  and  in  art,  but  neither  nature  nor  art  had 
hitherto  shown  him  one  so  fair  as  that  which  was  presented 
to  him  on  that  summer  evening. 

Birdie  took  his  arm,  and  they  started  for  her  home, 
each  one  with  a  new  joy  in  the  heart  that  had  never  dwelt 
there  before,  and  a  dreamy,  ethereal  content  stole  like  sad 
music  on  a  south  wind  over  their  souls.  The  world  never 


196  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

seemed  so  beautiful,  the  sky  so  bright,  the  flowers  so 
lovely,  or  the  birds  to  sing  more  sweetly — all  previous  life 
seemed  but  as  a  trance,  sad-colored  and  heavy  with  monot- 
ony. All  that  were  hueless  dreams  before  took  form 
and  color,  and  the  vaguest  ideals  all  at  once  grew  real.  In 
an  hour  the  flower  of  love  had  sprouted,  grown,  and 
bloomed  as  a  tree  of  life. 

Birdie  had  been  kept  beneath  her  father's  wing ;  he 
watched  over  her  as  a  hen  watches  over  her  only  chicken. 
He  was  very  particular  in  selecting  such  companions  for 
her  as  he  thought  would  be  befitting  her  society,  and 
always  selected  the  course  of  literature  he  wished  her  to 
read,  and  taught  her  French  and  Latin  in  his  own  study  ; 
for  he  had  mastered  them  both  and  spoke  them  fluently. 
And  instead  of  rushing  her  into  society  to  catch  a  hus- 
band before  she  could  make  a  cup  of  tea  or  know  anything 
of  the  responsibilities  that  would  rest  upon  her  shoulders, 
he  kept  her  in  the  nursery,  and  at  eighteen  she  was  as 
innocent  and  as  unsophisticated  as  other  girls  would  be  at 
twelve,  thanks  to  her  wise  father.  The  breath  of  passing 
love-fancies  which  dulls  the  mirror  of  most  girls'  souls  had 
never  passed  over  her. 

She  had  been  reared  in  the  sunshine  of  her  father's 
affections,  and  with  that  love  she  was  as  content  and  happy 
as  a  mountain  flower  that  bloomed  where  no  steps  of  man 
had  ever  wandered.  Her  heart  was  like  a  deep,  unruffled 
lake.  Ah,  well !  every  one  has  his  troubles,  his  disap- 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  197 

pointments,  and  heartaches,  which  Cupid  poisons  his  arrow 
with  before  he  pulls  the  trigger,  and  Birdie  must  have  her 
share,  for  Cupid  has  already  made  a  dead  shot,  and  his 
arrow  has  lodged  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  the  heart. 
She  does  not  know  it  yet,  but  one  day  she  will  feel  a  pang 
which  will  tell  her  where  the  arrow  rankles. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

HAS  SHE  KEEN   NAMED   IN    HEAVEN,   OR    DO  THE  ANGELS  CALL 
HER    BIRDIE   STILL? 

Twilight's  mystic  veil  was  hanging  low,  and  the  bright 
constellations,  one  by  one,  were  taking  their  stations  in 
the  heavens,  when  Birdie  Sinclare  and  her  companion 
walked  leisurely  up  the  graveled  terrace  of  her  home. 

The  statues  shone  white  and  ghost-like  between  the 
dark,  whispering  trees,  and  the  snowball  bushes  gleamed 
faintly  through  the  dusk,  and  nodded  their  downy  heads 
in  the  breezes,  and  seemed  to  hold  silent  and  solemn  com- 
munication with  each  other  as  they  passed  by  them. 

It  was  just  at  that  time  when  the  light  was  divided 
from  the  darkness,  and  mystery  seemed  to  wrap  the  whole 
face  of  the  earth  in  one  endless,  dusky  winding-sheet. 
The  lamps  had  not  been  lighted  yet,  and  love  lives  best 
in  this  soft,  mysterious  twilight,  where  it  only  hears  its 
own  heart  and  one  other's  beat  in  solitude. 

Birdie  and  her  companion  did  not  enter  the  house,  but 
took  a  seat  beneath  the  old  hawthorn,  whose  white  blossoms 
were  dropping  like  snowflakes  upon  his  black  coat,  and 
lodging  amid  Birdie's  sunny  ringlets. 

(198) 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  199 

"Mr.  Elmore,  you  did  not  tell  me  how  you  came  to 
be  at  the  spring,"  said  Birdie,  as  they  seated  themselves 
beneath  the  rustic  canopy. 

"  I  was  carried  there  upon  the  wings  of  Fate,"  said  the 
young  man,  smiling  down  into  her  sweet  face  as  the 
blushes  chased  each  other  down  her  cheeks  and  played 
hide-and-seek  among  the  little  ringlets  behind  her  ears. 
"Nothing  mortal  could  have  been,  nor  would  have  been, 
so  kind,"  he  added,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  honest  brown 
eyes. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that?  "  said  she.  "  Do  you  think 
it  was  very  kind  of  Fate  to  make  you  walk  five  miles  out 
of  your  way  home?  " 

' '  I  would  be  willing  to  walk  ten  miles  out  of  my  way, 
Miss  Birdie,  just  to  have  the  blessed  opportunity  of  walk- 
ing one  mile  with  my  fair  companion,"  he  replied. 

"Do  they  teach  young  men  to  flatter  at  your  school, 
Mr.  Elmore?"  she  replied.  "I  think  you  told  me  that 
you  had  just  returned  from  school." 

"A  man  need  not  attend  a  law  school  to  learn  the  les- 
son at  first — " 

"Now  stop  right  there,"  said  she,  shaking  her  fore- 
finger at  him.  "  I  told  you  that  I  detested  coxcombs  and 
flatterers,  and  I  thought  better  of  you,  Mr.  Elmore.  You 
look  like  a  man,  and  not  a  fop." 

"I  will  not  allow  you  to  call  my  true  sentiments  flat- 
tery, for  I  really  mean  every  word  I  say,  whether  you 


2OO  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

believe  it  or  not,  and  when  you  come  to  know  me  better 
you  will  think  differently  of  me.  Perhaps  I  have  been  too 
familiar  on  first  acquaintance,"  said  he,  sorrowfully;  "but 
I  could  not  help  it,  Miss  Birdie,  upon  my  word  I  could 
not,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  think  any  the  less  of  me  for 
it,  for  you  have  strangely  impressed  me  in  some  way  that 
I  can  not  express.  Your  face  is  as  familiar  to  me  as  my 
right  hand,  and  yet  I  never  saw  you  before ;  your  voice  is 
as  familiar  as  my  own,  and  yet  I  never  heard  it  before. 
There  is  something  in  your  whole  bearing  and  manner 
that  impresses  me  deeply,  strangely — something  that  car- 
ries me  back  to  my  boyhood  days.  In  meeting  you  I  feel 
that  I  have  met  a  long-lost  friend — some  kindred  spirit 
from  whom  I  have  long  been  separated." 

"Mr.  Elmore, "  said  Birdie,  looking  at  him  with  a 
searching,  inquiring  look  in  her  thoughtful  eyes,  "it  is 
very  strange,  for  I  must  admit  that  I  have  been  impressed 
in  the  same  manner  in  regard  to  you.  It  seems  that  we 
have  met  before,  but  I  can  not  tell  when  or  where." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  he,  smiling,  "  for  I  know  you 
won't  think  me  such  a  bad  fellow  after  all ;  knowing  how 
to  sympathize  with  me.  Now  will  you  take  back  those 
bad  words  you  spoke  just  now,  and  let  me  be  your  friend  ?  " 

"I  can  not  take  them  back  now,"  said  she,  laughing, 
"for  Eurus  has  borne  them  away  on  her  shadowy  wings 
to  some  of  the  far-away  hills,  and  you  may  always  hear 
the  echo ;  but  you  shall  henceforth  be  my  friend." 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A    NAME.  2OI 

"Thank  you,"  said  he,  "  and  I  shall  try  to  retain  that 
friendship,  by  trying  to  make  myself  worthy  of  the  treas- 
ure." 

"Have  you  a  sister,  Mr.  Elmore  ? "  said  Birdie, 
looking  up  into  his  eyes  that  had  a  vacant,  far-away  look 
in  them. 

' '  No,  Miss  Birdie,  I  have,  unfortunately,  no  sister, 
though  I  had  one  once,  but — 

"  '  She  was  too  pure  for  sinful  earth, 

To  wander  here  below, 
Where  every  rose  conceals  a  thorn, 
And  every  joy  brings  woe.' 

"And  she  is  now  in  heaven;  and  it  is  she,"  he  added, 
with  a  sad  smile,  "  that  you  remind  me  of.  Your  face  and 
hair  and  eyes  and  voice  all  remind  me  of  that  dear,  sweet 
child,  and  carry  me  back  to  my  mountain  home,  with  its 
green  pastures  and  murmuring  brooks  and  flowery  slopes. 
It  seems  that  I  can  see  the  old  mill-pond  now  with  its 
moss-covered  wheels,  and  the  old  school-house  just  on  the 
top  of  the  hill.  But  it  is  very  selfish  of  me  to  converse 
upon  topics  that  can  not  be  interesting  to  you,  or  any  one 
else  but  myself." 

' '  O,  you  are  mistaken, "  said  she  ;  "it  does  interest  me 
very  much,  and  I  want  you  to  talk  to  me  just  as  you 
would  to  a  sister ;  for  you  know  we  are  to  be  the  best  of 
friends,  and  I  can  sympathize  with  you ;  for  I  too  have 


2O2  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

neither  brother  nor  sister ;  and  have  often  thought  how 
happy  I  would  be  if  I  only  had  a  sister  or  a  brother  like 
other  girls  who  have  them  ;  and  I  know  I  never  would  be 
cross  and  ugly  to  them  like  some  I  have  seen.  I  once  had 
a  brother,"  she  added,  "whom  I  loved  and  worshiped; 
though  I  was  very  young  when  he  died,  yet  his  image  is 
ever  before  me,  and  his  voice  in  my  ear,  and  to  my  dying 
day  I  shall  never  cease  to  mourn  his  loss.  He  was 
drowned,  poor  boy,  trying  to  save  the  lives  of  some  little 
children  who  were  capsized  in  a  boat  near  the  falls." 

"That  is  strange,"  said  he,  "it  seems  that  our  lives 
run  in  the  same  channel.  We  both  claim  our  appellation 
by  adoption,  both  made  brotherless  and  sisterless  by  the 
hand  of  fate,  and  both  writing  a  book,  each  taking  his 
title  from  the  feathery  tribe." 

"Why  do  you  call  your  book  'A  Beautiful  Bird  with- 
out a  Name?'  "  said  Birdie. 

"It  is  named  in  honor  of  my  little  dead  sister,  whose 
nickname  was  Birdie,  and  who  died  without  a  name,"  said 
the  young  man,  gravely.  "She  had  never  been  named, 
and  I  have  often  wondered  if  she  has  been  named  in 
heaven,  or  do  the  angels  call  her  Birdie  still?'' 

For  some  time  they  sat  without  speaking;  each  one 
seemed  too  full  for  words,  for  a  tear  was  trembling  on  the 
lids  of  each,  as  they  sat  in  profound  silence.  Presently 
they  heard  a  footstep,  and  the  next  moment  Birdie  was  in 
her  father's  arms. 


A    BEAUTIFUL   BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  2O3 

"  You  little  runaway  !  Where  have  you  been  ?  "  said 
he,  imprinting  a  kiss  upon  her  cheek.  "I  have  been 
nearly  crazy,  for  the  pony  came  home  without  you,  and  I 
was  sure  he  had  thrown  you,  and  you  were  perhaps  lying 
in  the  woods,  dead,  or  very  near  the  thing,  and  I  have 
been  looking  for  you  for  two  hours,  and  came  to  raise  the 
neighbors  to  go  in  search  of  you." 

"Well,  father,"  said  she,  laughing,  "there  is  nothing 
like  dying  when  you  can  have  a  grand  funeral,  and  some- 
body to  cry  for  you ;  but  come,  let  me  introduce  you  to 
my  new-found  friend.  Mr.  Elmore,  this  is  my  father,  Dr. 
Sinclare." 

The  young  man  advanced  toward  the  doctor  and  ex- 
tended his  hand,  which  Dr.  Sinclare  grasped  firmly. 

"I  am  happy  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Elmore !  "  said  he,  shak- 
ing his  hand  heartily.  ' '  I  believe  you  are  the  son  of  Judge 
Elmore,  of  L ,  are  you  not?" 

To  this  question  the  young  man  replied  in  the  affirm- 
ative. 

"I  am  well  acquainted  with  the  old  judge,  "he  replied; 
"but  I  have  not  seen  him  for  some  time.  How  is  your 
father's  health  ?  I  heard  he  was  failing  rapidly,  and  I  am 
sorry  to  hear  it,  for  the  State  will  lose  one  of  its  pillars." 

"It  is  too  true,  I  fear,"  said  Veary  Elmore.  "My 
father's  health  is  declining  rapidly.  He  works  entirely  too 
much ;  it  seems  that  the  public  can  not  give  him  up.  I 
have  not  seen  him  for  several  days,"  he  added.  "  I  have 


2O4  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

been  rusticating  with  friends  in  the  country.  My  father 
was  desirous  that  I  should  take  a  little  fresh  air  after  being 
confined  so  closely  at  college,  and  as  I  was  under  that  im- 
pression myself,  it  did  not  take  much  persuasion  to  make 
me  a  denizen  of  the  forest.  To-day  I  had  been  out  trying 
my  hand  at  hunting,  when  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
Miss  Sinclare,  and  was  happy  to  be  of  some  service  to 
her." 

Dr.  Sinclare  thanked  him  greatly  for  his  kindness,  and 
begged  that  he  would  not  only  take  tea  with  them,  but 
that  he  should  remain  until  morning,  and  he  would  send 
him  home  in  the  carriage.  To  this  proposition  the  young 
man  consented,  and  was  soon  feeling  himself  perfectly  at 
home. 

An  hour  had  passed  since  supper,  and  the  young  people 
were  sitting  alone  upon  the  veranda  discussing  literature 
and  the  drama,  Macbeth  and  the  weird  sisters,  and  Shakes- 
peare in  general,  when  Birdie  gave  the  conversation  a 
turn  by  saying,  "What  a  glorious  night !  " 

"Yes,  look  at  that  great,  bright  star,"  said  her  com- 
panion; "  I  never  saw  it  so  brilliant  as  it  is  to-night." 

They  were  leaning  over  the  balustrade  and  looking 
toward  the  star-lit  river,  which  was  lovely  in  its  clear  dark- 
ness and  its  deep  stillness.  Its  black,  sleeping  depth 
seemed  not  to  stir  in  its  ripple.  Here  and  there  a  star 
trembled  upon  its  dark  bosom,  and  along  its  shadowy 
shore  the  white  skiffs  nestled,  gleaming  faintly ;  now  and 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  2O5 

then  a  mellow  whistle  from  a  passing  steamer  broke  upon 
the  air,  as  it  glided  by  like  a  great  spread-eagle,  its  head- 
lights streaming  across  the  dark  water,  making  a  golden 
path,  as  if  handfuls  of  topaz  jewels  were  scattered  there. 
The  trees  were  silent  specters  against  the  deep,  dark  sky ; 
the  hills  upon  the  opposite  shore  rose  like  amber  ghosts, 
and  over  all  the  stars  shone  pure  and  distant,  like  gleams 
of  the  light  of  heaven  breaking  through  the  black  veil  of 
night. 

Birdie  and  her  companion  stood  looking  on  the  peace 
and  beauty  of  the  scene,  literally  intoxicated  with  its 
glory. 

A  skiff  was  passing  in  the  distance,  and  faint  and  light 
the  plash  of  the  oars  came  over  the  water  to  them,  and 
clear  and  sweet  the  sound  of  voices  singing  as  the  oarsmen 
rowed  slowly  and  almost  languidly  on. 

"That  is  a  picnic  party,"  said  Veary  Elmore.  "  I  saw 
them  this  morning,  and  they  are  now  on  their  way  home." 

"  O,  how  perfectly  delightful !"  said  Birdie.  "There 
is  nothing  that  I  delight  in  more  than  a  moonlight  row 
upon  the  water." 

"There  are  the  boats  moored  yonder,"  said  her  com- 
panion; "  I  wonder  if  they  are  secured." 

"Yes,"  said  Birdie,  "they  always  secure  them  for  fear 
they  will  be  taken  away ;  but  I  have  a  beautiful  boat  of 
my  own,  the  prettiest  on  the  river.  Father  bought  it  for 
me  the  other  day,  and  I  go  out  rowing  nearly  every  after- 


2O6  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

noon ;  but  it  is  not  half  so  delightful  to  me  as  the  moon- 
light rows." 

"Suppose  we  go  and  join  the  excursionists,"  said  he; 
"  they  haven't  passed  yet,  and  it  is  quite  early." 

"  Well,  let  me  run  and  ask  father,"  said  she.  "  I  never 
do  anything  without  first  consulting  him." 

"You  are  quite  right,  Miss  Birdie,"  said  he,  as  she 
walked  away. 

Going  up  to  her  father's  study,  she  tapped  on  the  door. 

"Come  in,  child,"  said  Dr.  Sinclare,  quietly  and  ten- 
derly, but  without  looking  up. 

He  was  sitting  in  his  usual  arm-chair,  and  near  him  was 
an  ottoman,  the  same  which  Birdie  used  to  sit  upon  when 
she  was  a  little  child. 

By  one  of  those  gentle,  womanly  instincts  that  are 
generally  safe  to  adopt  as  guides,  she  goes  softly  up  to 
him  and  takes  her  place  at  his  feet,  just  as  she  has  often 
done  before  when  she  wanted  to  coax  him  to  consent  to 
some  plan  laid  out  by  herself.  The  doctor  smiled  and 
laid  his  hand  upon  her  head  and  smoothed  her  hair 
gently.  "What  is  it,  Birdie?"  said  he.  "I  know  you 
are  after  something,  for  I  have  a  good  sign  to  go  by." 

"What  do  you  tell  by,  papa?"  said  she,  looking  up 
into  his  face. 

"Never  mind  what  it  is ;  I  know  you  have  come  for 
something,  or  you  would  never  have  left  Mr.  Elmore  to 
come  up  here  to  sit  with  a  dry  old  man  like  me." 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  2O/ 

"You  should  not  speak  that  way,  papa,"  said  she, 
pouting  her  pretty  lips,  "  when  you  know  that  I  love  you 
better  than  anybody  in  this  whole  world." 

"I  know  that,  my  child,"  said  he,  patting  her  head, 
"but  I  can't  help  from  feeling  a  little  jealous  of  Mr. 
Elmore ;  but  I  would  rather  be  jealous  of  him  than  any  one 
I  know  of  at  this  time,  for  I  think  he  is  a  splendid  young 
man,  and  will  one  day  make  a  brilliant  star  in  his  profes- 
sion. But  why  have  you  left  him  alone?  Surely,  you 
have  not  fallen  out  with  him  already?" 

' '  O,  no, "  said  Birdie ;  ' '  we  are  the  best  of  friends ;  and 
I  am  so  glad  you  like  him,  papa,  because  I  know  you  will 
then  trust  me  with  him — " 

"To  trust  you  with  him,  child?  —  to  trust  you  with 
him — why,  have  you  come  to  get  my  consent  to  the  mar- 
riage?" said  the  doctor,  nervously. 

"  Now  just  listen  to  you,  papa.  What  are  you  talking 
about?  Just  as  if  I  would  leave  you  to  marry  anybody. 
Besides,  Mr.  Elmore  don't  want  to  marry  me,  he  only 
wants  to  take  me  rowing.  Can  I  go,  papa  ?  " 

''Ah!  that's  it,"  said  the  old  doctor,  smiling;  "  I  began 
to  think  I  was  going  to  lose  my  little  bird,"  and  he  took 
up  his  pen  and  commenced  writing,  without  giving  her  an 
answer  to  her  question. 

"Say,  papa,  Mr.  Elmore  is  waiting  for  me,  and  I  am 
waiting  for  your  answer.  Can  I  go,  dear?  One — two — 
if  you  don't  answer  me  before  I  say  three,  papa,  I  shall 


2O8  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

do  something  desperate;"  and  she  arose  and  placed  her 
arms  around  his  neck. 

"Birdie,"  said  the  doctor,  "I  am  almost  afraid  to  let 
you  go ;  there  have  been  so  many  accidents  lately.  Only 
a  few  days  ago  two  young  ladies  were  drowned  while  row- 
ing, and  I  am  afraid  to  trust  you  with  any  one  else  except 
myself." 

' '  O,  papa,  there  can  be  no  danger  with  Mr.  Elmore 
with  me,"  pleaded  Birdie;  "besides,  the  wind  is  fine  and 
the  night  is  as  bright  as  day,  and  so  many  are  out  rowing. 
We  have  been  out  upon  the  veranda  watching  them  for 
ever  so  long.  Hark !  do  you  hear  them  singing  ?  It  is 
the  excursionists;  O,  I  do  want  to  go  so  bad,  papa." 

"There  is  no  use  in  arguing  with  a  woman,"'  exclaimed 
her  father,  "she  is  going  to  have  her  way,  and  you  are 
like  the  balance  of  them.  I  will  have  to  give  up,  I  guess ; 
but  be  careful,  child,  and  don't  stay  out  too  long." 

"That  is  a  good,  sweet,  dear  old  darling,"  said  she, 
giving  him  a  hug,  and  the  next  minute  she  was  flying 
down  stairs  and  out  upon  the  veranda,  where  she  had  left 
Veary  a  few  minutes  before. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  ROW  BY  MOONLIGHT SAVED  FROM  A  WATERY  GRAVE. 

' '  What  a  terrestrial  paradise  !  Surely,  it  is  a  home  for 
the  fairies!"  exclaimed  Veary  Elmore,  as  he  and  Birdie 
passed  through  the  conservatory  that  was  filled  with  flow- 
ers— fragrant  mignonette,  lemon-scented  verbenas,  purple 
heliotropes — into  the  beautiful  fernery,  where  the  lamp- 
lights fell  in  shining  showers  upon  the  rich,  green  foliage, 
and  the  rippling,  sparkling  water  of  the  fountain  danced 
with  musical  rhythm  in  the  deep  basin  below. 

The  stars  had  stolen  out,  one  by  one,  until  the  heavens 
were  all  aglow  with  them  from  horizon  to  horizon.  Silence 
had  sunk  down  softly  over  the  land,  and  even  the  trees 
scarcely  whispered  in  their  sleep.  The  pale  rays  of  the 
moon  began  to  creep  through  the  still  branches,  and  trace 
bright  lines  across  the  marble  terrace,  and  twine  her  silvery 
fingers  among  the  petals  of  the  slumbering  flowers. 

It  was  a  time  when  love,  if  it  lay  in  a  man's  heart, 
would  spring  up  into  sudden,  sweet  life.  The  flowers  of 
love  had  already  bloomed  in  Veary  Elmore's  heart,  and  as 
the  beautiful  Birdie  walked  by  his  side,  he  looked  down 
the  vista  of  possibilities  of  the  future,  and  saw  her  fair 
14  (209) 


2IO  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

sweet  brow  crowned  with  orange  flowers  and  a  bridal  veil 
standing  at  his  side,  and  her  little  white  hand  clasped  in  his. 

All  the  force  and  strength,  the  hope  and  aim,  the  faith 
and  passion  of  his  soul  were  poured  out  in  the  one  deep 
channel  of  an  exhaustless  love. 

The  more  he  saw  of  her,  the  more  he  desired  to  be 
with  her;  and  he  saw  the  net  of  destiny  closing  around 
him,  and  knew  there  would  be  no  way  of  escape  unless  by 
breaking  a  cord,  and  at  the  snapping  of  that  cord  he 
would  suffer  a  pang. 

"Love  is  a  magnetism,  drawing  eye  to  eye,  and  soul 
to  soul,  and  the  potentiality  of  all  heroism  and  of  all  crime. 
When  it  enters  into  a  human  heart  it  possesses  it  with  all 
divine  possibilities;  yet  in  the  celestial  light  of  its  halo 
sleeps  the  fire  that  if  evil  influence  should  kindle  it,  it 
burns  and  brands  deep  as  the  mark  on  the  brow  of  Cain. 
There  is  no  hell  to  the  depths  of  which  love,  maddened 
and  misguided,  may  not  hurl  itself  down — no  heaven  whose 
pure  heights  it  may  not  scale." 

On  the  moonlit  shore  two  or  three  skiffs  were  pulled  up. 
Under  their  keels  the  water  was  lapping  in  tiny,  transpar- 
ent ripples  on  the  rounded,  shining  pebbles. 

A  red  flag  drooped  at  the  rear  of  one  of  the  boats, 
faintly  fluttering  in  the  light  breeze  that  blowed  down 
from  the  hill. 

"This  is  my  boat,"  said  Birdie,  going  up  to  the  one 
with  the  red  flag. 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  211 

"It  looks  like  a  man-of-war,"  said  Veary,  laughing,  "  I 
suppose  you  will  have  me  for  your  commander-in-chief, 
Miss  Birdie,  won't  you?  " 

' '  Yes, "  said  Birdie,  ' '  and  we'll  press  all  the  yellow  jack- 
ets, bees,  and  wasps  into  service  to  fight  the  mosquitoes, 
for  they  are  just  terrible  to-night.  Let  us  hurry  and  push 
off  from  the  shore,  then  they  will  not  trouble  us  any  more. 
Here  is  the  key,  and  there  is  Thomas  with  the  paddles ;  I 
took  them  up  to  the  house  for  safe-keeping." 

They  took  their  seats  in  the  skiff,  and  pushed  off  at  last. 
As  they  left  the  shore  they  could  hear  the  sounds  of  distant 
music  and  ringing  laughter  across  the  water,  from  the 
merry  excursionists. 

Veary  Elmore,  who  was  not  exempt  from  the  besetting 
weakness  of  the  nineteenth  century,  took  out  his  fuse-box 
and  lit  a  cigar. 

He  was  very  fond  of  rowing ;  indeed,  it  was  the  only 
athletic  exercise  he  cared  much  about,  or  at  any  rate  much 
indulged  in.  Being  a  good  oarsman,  their  little  boat  soon 
caught  up  with  the  excursionists,  and  shot  past  them  so 
quickly  they  only  caught  a  glance  of  them  ;  but  every  one 
turned  his  head  to  look  at  the  beautiful  picture  as  they 
passed  ;  for  Birdie  was  drooping  languidly,  gracefully  as 
the  dew  laden  cup  of  the  garden  lily  against  the  red 
cushions  piled  at  the  side  of  the  boat,  with  one  hand  trailing 
in  the  water,  her  eyes  fixed  with  a  half-reluctant  look  upon 
the  paddles  that  rippled  through  the  silvery  waves. 


212  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

"I  wish  you  would  not  look  so  lovely  to-night,"  said 
Veary,  and  his  eyes  filled  with  a  soft,  tender  light  as  he 
looked  wistfully  into  her  face. 

"Why?"  she  responded,  and  her  large,  dreamy  eyes 
were  upturned  to  his  in  a  gentle,  grave  attention. 

"  Because  it  is  dangerous,"  he  replied,  with  a  mischiev- 
ous twinkle  in  his  eyes.  "  If  I  look  at  you  much  longer  I 
shall  be  tempted  to  make  love  to  you,  and  if  you  refuse  to 
listen  to  me  I  should  be  prompted  to  capsize  the  boat." 

"  Well,  what  good  would  that  do?"  said  Birdie,  reluc- 
tantly. 

"  I  should  take  you  along  to  heaven  with  me! ''  he  ex- 
claimed, "  for  I  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  going  alone, 
and  leaving  you  behind  for  a  more  successful  rival." 

' '  It  would  be  very  doubtful  whether  you  would  accom- 
pany me  there  after  committing  such  a  deed  as  that,  Mr. 
Elmore, "  said  Birdie.  "  Indeed,  I  would  be  afraid  to  vent- 
ure far  with  such  a  companion." 

"Excuse  me,  Miss  Birdie,  I  do  believe  I  could  be 
happy  in  pandemonium  if  I  had  you  always  to  look  at. 
I  can  now  believe  in  the  sirens  of  old,"  he  added;  "they 
must  have  had  just  such  eyes,  such  rich  voices,  and  just 
such  faces  as  yours.  I  should  pity  the  man  who  hope- 
lessly loved  you,  for  he  had  just  as  well  be  in  pandemo- 
nium or  some  other  horrible  place." 

"I  should  imagine  the  man  who  would  be  stupid 
enough  to  fall  in  loVe  with  me  would  need  to  be  pitied," 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  213 

she  replied,  dreamily,  as  her  fingers  trailed  through  the 
water. 

"If  she  loves  any  one,  it  will  be  easy  for  her  to  win," 
he  thought. 

How  little  he  dreamed  that  the  whole  passionate  love 
of  her  heart  was  given  to  himself!  And  the  more  she 
knew  of  him  the  more  he  was  endeared  to  her — his  single- 
mindedness,  his  chivalry,  his  faith  in  women,  and  his  re- 
spect for  them  were  greater  than  she  had  seen  in  any  other 
man,  and  she  loved  him  for  those  qualities.  The  more  she 
contrasted  him  with  others  the  greater,  deeper,  and  wider 
grew  her  love.  And  that  love,  so  deep,  so  pure,  and  holy, 
sprang  up  and  grew  into  maturity  in  only  a  few  short 
hours.  He  filled  the  scope  of  her  life  so  completely  that 
it  was  strange  and  almost  impossible  for  her  to  realize 
that  only  a  few  hours  ago  she  had  not  known  him — that  a 
few  hours  ago  he  was  nothing  to  her.  Her  heart  had  lain 
still  as  a  dark,  sealed  fountain,  until  under  his  gentle  influ- 
ence the  seal  had  melted  and  broken,  and  the  imprisoned 
power  burst  forth  in  an  undying,  passionate  love. 

He  thought  her  perfect  on  that  evening  in  her  white 
and  amber  silk,  yet,  if  possible,  she  looked  even  better  in 
her  boating-dress,  with  no  jewels,  no  ribbons,  or  flowers, 
save  a  scarlet  geranium  at  her  throat.  The  masses  of  her 
golden  hair  were  unfastened  and  hung  in  ringlets  around 
her  white  neck;  there  was  a  warm,  bright  flush  on  her 
cheeks,  with  the  least  touch  of  languor  in  her  manner. 


214  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

Her  dress  looked  brilliant  in  the  mellow  moonlight,  being 
of  a  silvery  texture ;  the  trimming  was  composed  of  small 
fern-leaves ;  the  effect  of  the  dress  was  striking,  and  Birdie 
herself  had  never  looked  more  lovely. 

"  Look  at  that  smoke!  How  gracefully  it  curls  !  "  said 
she,  gazing  upon  a  steamer  that  was  coming  around  a  bend, 
leaving  a  blue-black  mist  in  its  train ;  the  lamp-lights  from 
the  pilot-house  streamed  down  upon  the  water,  throwing  a 
glittering  halo  from  shore  to  shore.  On  one  side  a  string 
of  big,  heavy,  bulky-looking  barges  glided  by,  black  and 
ugly,  like  a  trail  of  blots  across  the  bright,  quiet  beauty  of 
the  river. 

"I  don't  like  those  ugly-looking  things,"  said  Birdie. 
"What  a  pity  that  everything  is  not  lovely  and  beau- 
tiful!" 

"It  would  not  do."  said  Veary,  "for  a  world  without 
contrast  is  a  world  without  joy.  If  we  had  no  night  we 
would  not  appreciate  the  glory  of  the  sun.  Look  at  that 
steamer !  How  beautiful  she  looks  by  the  side  of  that  ugly- 
barge!  Contrast  makes  her  appear  more  lovely." 

"Look,  Mr.  Elmore, "  said  Birdie,  nervously,  "we're 
not  on  the  side  for  the  steamer  to  pass  us.  Hadn't  we 
better  pull  across  to  the  Kentucky  side?" 

"We  shall  strike  those  barges  then  if  we  don't  look 
sharp,"  said  he,  excitedly. 

"But  I  think  we  will  have  time  to  fall  in  below  the 
barge  if  you  will  pull  away  hard,"  said  Birdie.  "Let  me 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  21$ 

help  you,"  and  she  grasped  one  of  the  paddles  and  rowed 
with  all  her  strength,  in  spite  of  his  opposition. 

The  love  of  life  is  a  master  passion,  and  makes  the 
feeble  strong,  the  coward  daring,  the  meekness  of  woman- 
hood cope  with  the  force  of  man. 

They  pulled  hard,  but  the  steamer  was  shooting  along 
more  rapidly  and  the  barges  were  drifting  out  of  their  way 
slower  than  Veary  Elmore  thought.  Instead  of  getting 
clear  of  the  steamer  they  were  actually  crossing  its  path ; 
but  they  would  have  cleared  it  safely  enough  if  Birdie,  in 
her  alarm  at  seeing  the  steamer  so  close  upon  them,  had 
not  seized  the  rope  and  jerked  it  the  wrong  way.  The 
boat  swung  around  in  the  swell  of  the  steamer ;  it  seemed 
that  the  steamer  barely  touched  it,  but  in  an  instant  it 
capsized  and  tossed  its  occupants  into  the  river,  close  to 
the  revolving  paddle-wheel.  All  eyes  were  fastened  on 
the  spot  where  they  went  down  and  disappeared.  There 
was  the  dull  moan  of  severed  waters — the  troubled  lilies 
trembled  on  the  river's  breast — then,  with  a  sighing  sound, 
the  wind  swept  over  them  and  all  was  still ;  and  the  waters 
flowed  on  upon  their  changeless  course,  with  a  melancholy 
murmur,  as  peaceful  as  if  two  living  souls  were  not  strug- 
gling for  life  in  its  deep,  dark,  liquid  depth. 

The  ladies  on  board  the  steamer  were  screaming  and 
wringing  their  hands  in  terror,  and  the  men  were  flinging 
ropes  over  the  steamer's  sides.  The  groups  on  the  side  of 
the  steamer  were  momentarily  increasing  as  they  sprang 


2l6  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

from  their  berths  in  terror  on  hearing  the  screams  of  those 
on  deck. 

"They  must  have  been  hit  by  the  steamer,"  shouted 
one  man. 

"They  went  down  like  a  ball  of  lead,  all  in  a  minute," 
called  out  another. 

The  excited  group  on  the  bank  were  watching,  breath- 
lessly, and  calling  out  injunctions  to  the  boatmen,  who 
shouted  instructions  in  turn. 

"Hush!  there  is  something  coming  up  by  that  boat! 
There  is  the  young  man — there  he  is — and  alone !  "  They 
stretched  out  their  hands  to  help  him  into  the  boat,  but 
he  rejected  the  help,  and  in  a  hoarse  voice  exclaimed : 

"  Is  she  saved?" 

' '  No, "  came  from  a  hundred  voices, ' '  she  has  not  risen. " 

"God  help  me!  "  he  cried,  with  a  ring  of  despair  in  his 
voice,  and  which  all  on  board  could  never  forget ;  and  he 
turned  loose  from  the  boat  and  the  water  smoothed  over 
him. 

They  waited  and  watched — it  seemed  hours,  though  it 
was  only  minutes  that  they  waited.  There  was  wild  dis- 
order, delirious  panic ;  the  agony  of  hope  conflicting  with 
the  horrors  of  despair. 

At  last,  at  last  there  was  a  shout.  "  Here  he  is  !  here  he 
is  !  "  from  one  of  the  boats.  Something  white  cornes  to  the 
surface ;  there  is  one  moment's  breathless  watching  and 
then  a  ringing  shout  of  "  Hurrah!  Hurrah  !  "  goes  up  and 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  2 1/ 

pierces  the  heavens.  "Thank  God,  he  has  got  her  safe!  " 
they  cried,  while  eager  hands  were  held  out  to  help  them 
into  the  nearest  boat ;  one  a  lifeless  corpse,  hanging  a  limp, 
heavy,  helpless  mass  over  their  arms,  as  they  managed  to 
lift  her  over  the  side  of  the  boat ;  the  other  almost  breath- 
less, not  able  to  speak,  and  the  water  running  in  little 
rivulets  from  his  hair  and  ears  and  nose.  He  was  the  cen- 
ter of  an  admiring,  eager,  congratulatory  group,  though 
he  took  no  notice  of  the  friendly  offers  and  inquiries  and 
compliments  that  surrounded  him,  but  rushed  to  the  side 
of  the  helpless,  lifeless  form  of  his  darling,  and  clasped 
the  cold,  white  hands  in  his  trembling  fingers  and  ex- 
claimed, 

' '  Doctor,  is  she  dead  ?  " 

"  I  fear  there  is  not  much  hope,"  said  the  gentle  voice 
of  Dr.  St.  George. 

"O!  God!"  said  poor  Veary,  throwing  up  his  hands 
and  falling  prostrate  upon  the  floor. 

Fortunately,  Dr.  St.  George,  as  it  appeared,  was  a  pas- 
senger on  the  steamer,  and  was  the  only  physician  on 
board,  and  did  not  recognize  Veary  Elmore  until  he  had 
fallen  senseless  at  his  feet. 

"It  is  Veary  Elmore!"  exclaimed  Dr.  St.  George. 
' '  Remove  him  to  one  of  the  berths,  and  wrap  him  in 
blankets,  and  rub  him  with  brandy.  I  can  not  leave  the 
young  lady,  we  might  possibly  save  her  yet." 

"I  think  it  is  only  transitory  faintness,"  exclaimed  an 


2l8  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

old  lady,  looking  over  her  spectacles,  "and  it  will  soon 
pass  away.  We  had  better  try  and  bring  the  lady  to.  I 
wonder  who  she  is?  It  strikes  me  that  I  have  seen  her  be- 
fore. What  a  pity  that  lovely  dress  is  spoiled." 

The  kind  doctor  could  not  help  smiling  in  the  presence 
of  death  at  the  old  lady's  remarks,  but  he  knew  more 
about  the  young  man  than  she  did,  for  he  had  seen  him 
fall  senseless  at  his  feet  before,  and  he  had  nursed  him 
through  a  long  and  dangerous  spell  of  brain  fever. 

An  hour  of  almost  breathless  watching  and  waiting 
had  elapsed,  when  Dr.  St.  George  exclaimed,  "Thank 
God  !  she  lives — she  breathes  ;  bring  some  brandy."  And 
he  put  a  little  in  her  mouth,  and  chafed  her  face  and  hands 
and  feet  until  she  was  restored  to  life. 

She  opened  her  eyes  and  gazed  around  her.  She  could 
not  speak.  Finally,  with  an  effort,  she  whispered  in  a 
hoarse  voice,  "  Is  he — is  he — ?" 

The  doctor  comprehended  her  meaning,  and  said  in  a 
gentle  tone  of  voice, 

"Your  friend,  Mr.  Elmore,  is  safe.  We  have  him  in 
the  next  room.  Don't  be  alarmed  ;  you  have  had  a  narrow 
escape,  but  if  you  will  just  be  quiet  and  compose  yourself, 
you  will  be  all  right  in  a  few  days." 

As  the  steamer  was  on  her  way  to  Louisville,  they  were 
taken  to  that  city,  and  a  dispatch  was  sent  to  her  father, 
who  came  for  her  in  a  close  carriage.  He  was  almost  fran- 
tic with  grief,  for  they  had  not  returned  home,  and  he 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  219 

could  hear  no  tidings  from  them.  Some  one  had  passed 
that  way  and  had  spread  the  news  all  through  the  country 
around  that  a  young  couple  had  been  capsized  in  the 
river  and  drowned,  and  that  was  the  only  information  he 
could  obtain. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

BIRDIE'S  SURPRISE,  OR  THE  MINIATURE  IN  THE  WOODS. 

Three  months  had  passed  in  quick  succession  since  the 
night  Veary  Elmore  had  saved  Birdie  Sinclare  from  a  wa- 
tery grave,  and  those  three  months  wrought  a  great  change 
in  this  fair  young  girl.  From  that  hour,  her  whole  heart 
had  gone  out  to  him.  At  first  she  did  not  understand  the 
change  that  had  come  over  her.  She  only  knew  that  his 
presence  made  Elysium  to  her — his  absence,  desolation ; 
that  the  sound  of  his  voice  made  her  heart  beat  wildly,  her 
hands  tremble,  her  face  burn  ;  that  if  he  touched  her  hand, 
that  touch  seemed  to  thrill  her  whole  soul  ;  that  when  he 
entered  a  room  it  was  as  though  all  sunshine  and  all  glad- 
ness came  into  it ;  that  when  he  left  it,  darkness  and  deso- 
lation reigned  ;  that  in  all  the  music  of  nature,  she  only 
heard  his  voice,  and  that  earth  appeared  fairer.  Every- 
thing was  changed  for  her.  And  then  it  dawned  upon  her 
that  this  meant  love — nothing  else  but  love,  about  which 
she  had  dreamed,  and  puzzled,  and  wondered.  He  was 
the  hero  of  her  dreams — the  ideal  had  come  at  last.  And 
he  was  the  one  love  of  her  heart  and  soul ;  she  knew  no 
other  ;  no  other  man  had  ever  had  the  power  to  charm  her. 

(220) 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  221 

Her  ideal  was  realized ;  beyond  that  realization  she  never 
went.  She  was  happy,  and  yet  miserable.  She  enjoyed 
the  magnificence  and  the  wealth  that  surrounded  her;  she 
enjoyed  the  homage  laid  at  her  feet ;  but  she  enjoyed  the 
vague,  dreamy  happiness  of  her  inner  life  better  than  alL 
Her  heart  and  soul  thrilled  with  the  vague,  sweet  poetry  of 
life.  The  crown  of  womanhood  was  won,  and  the  diadem 
placed  upon  her  fair  brow. 

Any  man  would  have  been  proud  of  that  love.  Any 
man  would  have  been  proud  to  have  claimed  her  for  his 
wife,  had  she  been  as  poor  as  "Job's  turkey,"  but  she 
was  the  sole  heiress  of  the  wealthy  and  honorable  Dr. 
Sinclare.  Stately  as  a  duchess,  as  beautiful  as  a  poet's 
dream,  gifted  and  intellectual,  and  as  pure  in  heart  as  a 
little  child — full  of  beautiful  thoughts — her  mother's  only 
legacy — wondering  with  a  grave,  solemn,  child-like  won- 
der what  was  to  be  her  ultimate  fate,  what  grand  destiny 
awaited  her;  a  girl  of  the  rarest  type,  noble  in  soul,  lofty,, 
but  proud  to  a  degree ;  not  vain,  for  vanity  was  never  one 
of  her  faults ;  not  vain  of  her  beauty  nor  her  wealth,  but 
proud  in  the  highest,  broadest,  noblest  sense,  detesting 
everything  mean  and  dishonorable. 

Veary  Elmore  had  been  a  constant  visitor  at  her  father's 
house  ever  since  that  never-to-be-forgotten  night,  but  he 
had  never  made  an  open  declaration  of  his  love  to  her, 
though  he  had  shown  her  in  every  way  that  she  was  his 
idol.  It  was  love  at  first  sight ;  he  worshiped  at  her  shrine.. 


222  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

From  that  first  moment  when  her  violet  eyes,  with  their 
dreamy  look  of  wonder,  were  turned  up  to  him,  he  loved 
her  with  a  love  that  was  his  doom.  She  was  the  one 
love  of  his  heart  and  soul.  He  thought  no  beauty  in  the 
world  equaled  hers.  He  laughed  at  the  idea  that  people 
had  ever  hinted  at  him  to  marry  that  Miss  Fuss-and- 
Feathers,  with  her  sharp  nose,  and  pitch  eyes,  and  greasy, 
black  hair. 

"I  will  marry  Birdie  Sinclare,  or  I  will  never  marry 
any  one,  for  there  is  no  use  in  talking,  I  never  can,  nor 
ever  will,  love  any  one  else,  and  I  will  ask  her  to  be  my 
wife  before  another  week  passes,  and  if  she  refuses  me — 
well,  I  will  start  for  Europe  the  next  day, "  and  he  threw 
up  his  head  with  a  quick  effort,  to  conquer  the  morbid 
feelings  that  pressed  upon  him  heavily.  ' '  I  wonder  what 
that  old  Scullcutter  is  after,"  he  mused  as  he  rode  along. 
"This  makes  the  third  time  he  has  been  there.  I  wonder 
what  his  motive  is ;  surely  it  can't  be  to  see  Birdie ;  he  is 
old  enough  for  her  father ;  besides,  his  wife  has  not  been 
dead  six  months  yet.  I  must  speak  to  Birdie  about 
him  the  next  time  I  see  her.  I  suppose  he  will  try  to  put 
her  against  me  by  telling  her  my  father  was  a  drunkard, 
but  I  guess  he  will  not  tell  her  he  was  the  cause  of  it ;  that 
he  has  in  his  possession  to-day  that  which  should  be  my 
own  right  and  property.  I  shall  tell  her  all  when  I  see 
her.  She  shall  first  hear  from  my  own  lips  that  my  father 
filled  a  drunkard's  grave,  and  not  from  the  lips  of  a  foe. 


A    BEAUTIFUL    H1RI)    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  223 

She  must  not  allow  him  to  visit  her,  for  he  is  too  vile  to 
enter  her  presence,  although  his  money  covers  up  his 
meanness,  and  to  some  people  the  shining  ore  covers  the 
black  spots  in  his  character.  But  Birdie  is  different  from 
most  of  people,  thank  God!  and  his  money  will  have  no 
more  effect  on  her  than  so  much  trash.  She  is  getting  so 
reserved  of  late,"  he  mused.  "She  used  to  be  so  frank 
and  confiding,  and  now  she  is  getting  as  shy  as  a  wild  bird, 
and  blushes  every  time  I  go  near  her.  I  wonder  what  is 
the  matter?  " 

Yes,  there  was  a  change  in  Birdie  that  could  be  seen 
by  any  one  who  did  not  profess  to  be  a  close  observer. 
Shyly,  timidly,  she  would  look  at  him.  He  was  a  man  to 
be  proud  of — a  man  to  love.  But  he  must  never  know 
that  she  had  given  her  heart  all  unasked.  She  was  so 
fearful  that  he  should  think  her  unwomanly ;  so  afraid  that 
he  should  imagine  she  wanted  his  love,  that  she  took  ref- 
uge in  cold,  shy,  proud  avoidance,  which  increased  the 
distance  between  them,  and  each  moment  fanned  the 
flame  that  was  consuming  her  heart  and  soul.  No  one 
guessed  what  a  storm  of  unrequited  love  and  pain  warred 
under  the  calm,  proud  exterior. 

One  evening  in  the  latter  part  of  October,  Dr.  Sinclare 
was  sitting  alone  in  his  study ;  the  sky  was  bright  and  the 
wind  was  as  sweet  as  in  summer,  for  the  summer  weather 
still  lingered  and  seemed  unwilling  to  go.  Flowers  that 
should  have  __died  before  were  still  living ;  birds  that 


224  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

should  long  since  have  sought  a  summer  clime  were  still 
singing. 

' '  Papa,  can  I  come  in  a  little  while,  if  you  are  not  too 
busy?"  said  a  sweet  voice. 

"Yes,  child,  I  am  never  too  busy  to  talk  to  you,"  he 
replied,  as  Birdie  came  in  and  laid  her  arm  around  his 
neck. 

"Why,  it  is  quite  an  age  since  I  last  saw  you — not 
since  dinner.  Where  have  you  been  ?  You  are  getting 
to  be  almost  a  stranger." 

"  And  you  a  regular  pet,"  said  she,  stooping  down  and 
kissing  him  on  the  cheek.  "  I  have  been  over  to  see  the 
Hinkeyfords  and  take  them  some  nourishment, "she  added. 
"Poor  Mrs.  Hinkeyford,  I  don't  think  she  will  live  long, 
papa,  do  you  think  she  will?" 

"  She  may  live  a  couple  of  months,  or  she  may  die  to- 
night; there  is  no  telling;  consumption  is  a  very  flattering 
disease." 

"O,  I  do  hope  she  may  live  until  after — " 

"  After  what?"  said  her  father,  a  little  puzzled  at  seeing 
her  pause  in  her  sentence  and  turn  red  in  the  face. 

"O,  nothing,  papa,"  said  she,  seating  herself  in  his 
lap.  "That  was  awful  cruel  of  me  to  have  such  thoughts, 
but  I  did  not  mean  any  disrespect  to  poor  Mrs.  Hinkey- 
ford, but  I  do  so  much  want  Grace  to  come  to  the  ball." 

"  What  ball,  child?  You  are  always  talking  in  proverbs 
to  me." 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  22$ 

' '  Well,  that  was  just  what  I  came  to  tell  you.  I  mean 
that  I  have  come  to  ask  you  to  let  me  give  a  ball  in  honor 
of  Mr.  Elmore's  departure  for  Europe.  Now,  I  have  said 
it ;  can  I,  papa,  can  I  ?  " 

' '  So  that  was  the  weighty  matter  you  wanted  to  discuss, 
eh  ?  and  you  don't  want  Mrs.  Hinkeyford  to  die  until  after 
the  ball,  is  that  it?  Well,  I  guess  we  will  have  to  send  up 
a  special  message  to  have  her  death  postponed  until  after 
the  ball,  shall  we  not  ?  " 

"  O,  you  naughty  papa,  you,"  pinching  him  on  the 
cheek,  ' '  you  take  a  delight  in  teasing  me.  You  know  she 
will  have  to  die  some  time,"  said  she,  innocently,  "and  if 
she  could  live  until  after  the  ball,  why  Grace  could  come  ; 
if  she  does  not,  she  can't.  That's  all  there  is  about  it. 
Besides,  she  is  anxious  for  Grace  to  come  if  we  have  one, 
that  is,  if  she  is  living." 

"You  are  a  regular  genius,"  said  he,  smiling  down 
into  her  face.  ' '  You  can  fix  up  things  just  to  suit  yourself. 
When  is  your  ball  to  take  place?  " 

"That  depends  upon  your  decision,"  said  she.  "  You 
have  not  told  me  whether  I  could  have  it  or  not." 

"A  special  pleader,  indeed.  Diplomacy  is  your  forte. 
You  should  keep  to  it." 

"I  mean  to.  But  should  I  plead  in  vain  with  you, 
should  I  ?  "  She  had  grown  somewhat  earnest. 

"O!  with  me!"  said  Dr.  Sinclare,  with  much  self- 
contempt;  "  I  have  given  up  all  that  sort  of  thing  long 

15 


226  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

ago.  I  know  how  much  too  strong  you  are  for  me,  and  I 
am  too  wise  to  even  try  to  swim  against  the  tide.  Only  I 
would  entreat  you  to  be  merciful  as  you  are  strong." 

"I  will,"  said  she,  "  if  you  won't  talk  any  more  non- 
sensical chat,  you  silly  boy,  you,"  said  Birdie,  who  was 
now  standing  at  the  back  of  his  chair  combing  his  hair, 
and  declared  it  had  not  been  combed  since  the  last  time 
she  combed  it. 

"When  is  Mr.  Elmore  going  to  leave  for  Europe?" 
exclaimed  her  father,  after  there  had  been  silence  for  sev- 
eral moments. 

"He  is  going  next  month,"  said  Birdie,  as  she  drew  a 
long  sigh. 

"And  you  have  really  run  him  off?" 

"Now,  just  listen  to  you,  papa;  how  have  I  run  him 
off?  I  don't  know  what  has  caused  him  to  change  his 
mind.  He  told  me  that  he  was  going  next  summer,  and 
he  was  here  a  few  days  ago  and  said  that  he  was  going  to 
start  on  the  first." 

"I  am  sorry  he  is  going  to  leave  us  so  soon,  for  I 
really  liked  the  young  man,  and  was  in  hopes  I  should 
have  him  for  my  son-in-law  one  of  these  days.  I  wonder 
who  his  father  was?  Some  of  Judge  Elmore's  relations,  I 
guess.  It  is  strange  he  never  married.  I  suppose  Veary 
will  be  his  heir." 

At  that  instant  the  doorbell  rang,  and  before  Birdie 
had  time  to  escape  a  gentleman  was  ushered  into  the  pres- 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

ence  of  Dr.  Sinclare.  Birdie  bowed  very  gracefully  and 
walked  out  of  her  father's  study,  and  started  up  to  her 
room ;  then  she  paused  and  turned  to  the  open  door,  as 
though  the  house  was  too  small  to  contain  all  the  thoughts 
that  thronged  her  breast.  She  walked  out  into  the  garden 
where  autumn,  though  kindly  and  slowly  in  its  advances, 
was  touching  everything  with  the  hand  of  death.  Birdie 
passed  by  it  all,  unmindful  of  its  beauty.  With  a  sigh 
she  quit  her  beloved  garden  and  wandered  still  further 
abroad  into  the  deep  woods  that  had  already  put  their 
glory  on  and  looked  lovely  in  their  dress  of  tender  russets 
and  sad  green  and  fading  tints  that  met  and  melted  into 
each  other. 

The  daylight  was  fading  softly,  imperceptibly,  but  surely. 
There  was  yet  a  glow  from  the  departing  sunlight  that  was 
sinking  lazily  beyond  the  distant  hills,  and  tinged  with 
gold  the  earth  lying  in  her  shroud  of  leaves.  Masses  of 
crimson  clouds,  edged  with  purple  and  gold,  appeared  to 
be  making  a  bed  for  the  sun  to  lie  on ;  the  roseate  light 
seemed  to  linger  among  the  trees  and  flowers.  Silence 
reigned  unbroken.  All  the  feathery  tribe  of  the  aerial 
regions  were  pruning  their  downy  plumage  and  murmur- 
ing sleepy  lullabies  ere  sinking  to  their  rest.  Scarce  a 
sound  could  be  heard  save  the  distant  lowing  of  cattle  and 
the  drowsy  drone  of  a  slumbrous  bee  as  it  floated  idly  by. 

There  was   such  a   deep    silence    among  the  trees,   as 
she  went  along,  that  it  seemed  to  Birdie's  excited  fancy  as 


228  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

though  this  were  a  mystical  evening,  holding  strange 
secrets  and  strange  meaning,  and  seemed  to  oppress  her 
with  many  discordant  thoughts.  She  felt  so  sad,  so 
lonely,  so  desolate,  as  she  wandered  along,  now  and  then 
stopping  to  pluck  a  favorite  flower,  or  listen  to  the  whistle 
of  some  lone  bird  that  had  lost  its  mate.  The  echo  of  her 
father's  words  was  still  ringing  in  her  ears,  "I  wonder 
who  his  father  was."  "  What  would  I  give  to  know  who 
my  father  is?"  she  exclaimed,  vehemently.  "To  know 
who  I  am  and  what  I  am  !  Am  I  always  to  live  in  a  shroud 
of  mystery,  and  must  my  future  ever  lie  behind  a  cloud  ? 
If  poor  Veary  was  living,  perhaps  there  would  be  some 
hopes  of  my  knowing;  but  he  is  dead,  and  I  shall  never 
know  until  I  meet  my  dear  parents  at  the  bar  of  God. 
Hark!  I  thought  I  heard  a  noise."  She  looked  down  and 
right  under  her  feet  was  a  hen's  nest.  Madam  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  battalion  of  young  chickens,  and  she  seemed 
to  say,  "Now  see  what  a  treat  I  have  in  store  for  you, 
Miss  Birdie,  just  because  I  stole  my  nest  off  where  that 
miserable  peacock  could  not  trouble  me." 

''Well  done,  thou  good  and  faithful  servant,"  said 
Birdie,  stooping  down  to  gather  up  some  of  the  young 
chickens  in  her  hands,  for  it  was  a  treat  sure  enough 
at  that  time  of  the  year.  Presently  her  eyes  fell  upon 
some  glittering  object  that  was  half  concealed  by  the  wings 
of  Madam  Hen.  She  reached  forth  her  hands  and  drew  it 
out.  She  turned  deathly  white,  and  her  lips  grew  purple 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  22Q 

as  she  exclaimed,  "A  locket,  and  my  locket,  too!  the  very 
same  that  I  had  when  I  was  a  child."  She  pressed  upon 
the  spring  and  it  flew  open,  revealing  the  miniature  of  her 
long-lost  brother,  Veary  Carlisle. 

"  O,  Veary,  Veary!"  she  exclaimed,  clasping  the  min- 
iature to  her  breast.  ' '  I  never  thought  to  see  your  dear  face 
again  in  this  world.  Surely,  kind  Providence  directed  my 
wandering  footsteps  to  this  spot.  Who  could  have  lost  it 
here?"  said  she,  kissing  it  again  and  again.  "It  is  so 
strange,  so  mysterious;  it  must  be  all  a  dear,  sweet  dream, 
and  I  shall  awake  directly  and  find  your  dear  image  turned 
to  nothing  in  my  hand." 

An  hour  had  passed,  and  twilight  had  shut  down  and 
darkened  all  the  land  as  Birdie  went  back  to  her  home. 
On  reaching  the  library,  she  looked  in  to  find  her  father  sit- 
ting there  engrossed  as  usual  in  some  book,  which  he  laid 
upon  the  table  the  moment  Birdie  entered  the  room, 
and  an  indescribable  sadness  rested  upon  his  face  which 
Birdie  had  never  seen  there  before. 

"Why,  papa,  darling,  you  look  as  dull  as  a  grave-dig- 
ger," said  she,  going  up  and  laying  her  arms  around  his 
neck.  "It  seems  so  very  strange,"  she  added,  "that 
every  time  Mr.  Scullcutter  comes  here  he  seems  to  throw 
a  gloom  over  you,  papa.  I  wish  he  would  never  come 
here  again." 

"If  you  knew  what  he  came  for,  perhaps  you  would 
not  speak  in  that  way.  You  would  not  speak  disrespect- 


23O  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

fully  of  a  man  because  he  conferred  an  honor  upon  you — 
the  highest  honor  a  gentleman  could  confer  upon  a  lady. " 

"What  do  you  mean,  papa,"  said  Birdie,  "  by  saying 
that  Mr.  Scullcutter  had  conferred  an  honor  upon  m'e  ?  I 
firmly  believe  that  your  mind  is  wandering." 

"Can't  you  guess,  Birdie?" 

"No,  papa,  I  can't  guess;  I  just  supposed  there  was 
another  stag  party  on  hand,  or  a  deer  hunt." 

"You  have  guessed  right,"  he  said,  laughing  with  an 
effort;  "it  is  a  dear  hunt,  sure  enough,  and  he  trailed  it 
right  to  this  house." 

"Well,  did  he  catch  it,  papa?"  said  Birdie. 

"Catch  it,"  exclaimed  her  father,  "no,  he  has  not 
caught  it  yet,  and  it  will  depend  upon  you  whether  he 
catches  it  or  not." 

"What  do  you  mean,  papa?"  said  Birdie,  sinking 
down  in  a  chair,  and  laying  her  head  upon  the  table  and 
looking  into  his  face  like  a  tired  child.  "  You  are  always 
talking  in  proverbs  to  me ;  I  wish  you  would  be  more  ex- 
plicit; if  you  don't,  I  shall  have  a  nervous  chill." 

"Are  you  prepared  for  a  shock  from  a  powerful  bat- 
tery?" exclaimed  her  father,  stroking  her  glossy  hair  with 
a  trembling  hand. 

"Now,  I  am  not  going  to  have  any  more  of  that  non- 
sensical chat,"  said  she,  pinching  his  cheeks.  "I  shall 
give  you  until  I  can  count  three  to  tell  me — one — two — do 
you  hear,  papa?" 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  23! 

"Well,"  said  he,  "  I  guess  I  had  just  as  well  out  with 
it — he  has  asked  for  your  hand  in  marriage.  That  is  the 
honor  which  he  has  conferred  upon  you.  And  now  the 
dreadful  announcement  is  made — the  words  that  have  been 
so  hard  to  utter  have  at  last  gone  out  into  the  air;  and 
now  what  answer  am  I  to  give  him,  Birdie  ?  Do  you  care 
anything  for  him  ?  He  is  a  good  chance — I  mean,  he  is 
wealthy,  and  you  will  always  have  plenty,  and  will  never 
know  a  want  that  wealth  can  shield  you  from." 

For  a  moment  silence  reigned,  and  then  Birdie  arose  and 
laid  her  arms  around  his  neck.  He  was  looking  straight 
before  him,  his  expression  troubled  and  grave,  his  mouth 
compressed. 

"Father,"  said  she,  firmly,  "could  you  be  happy  to 
see  Fen  Scullcutter  lead  your  daughter  to  the  marriage 
altar?  Speak  the  truth,  papa;  tell  me  if  it  will  be  essen- 
tial to  your  happiness ;  if  so,  I  will  marry  him — I  mean 
that  I  am  willing  to  make  the  sacrifice  to  promote  your 
happiness." 

"Sacrifice,  child;  I  do  not  want  you  to  make  any 
sacrifice  of  your  pure,  innocent  life,"  said  the  old  doctor, 
pressing  her  to  his  heart ;  "  but,  darling",  why  do  you  speak 
thus?  what  have  you  against  Mr.  Scullcutter,  Birdie?  I 
am  sure  he  is  handsome,  wealthy,  and  courteous,  and  loves 
you." 

' '  My  objections  are  very  grave, "  she  replied.  ' '  In  the 
first  place,  he  is  old  enough  for  my  father ;  and  second,  I 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

do  not  love  him,  and  would  not  if  I  could,  for  he  has  not 
one  spark  of  true  manhood  in  his  veins ;  and  third,  he  is 
a  coward,  and  the  man  that  I  could  love  and  respect  and 
honor  as  a  husband  would  have  to  be  a  brave  man." 

"Pray,  where  did  you  get  your  information?"  said  her 
father,  looking  at  her  in  surprise. 

' '  Experience  taught  me  a  part,  and  the  balance  came 
from  the  lips  of  truth.  The  night  I  came  so  near  being 
drowned,  he  was  in  a  skiff,  and  so  near  me  I  could  have 
touched  him  with  my  paddle,  and  he  would  not  raise  his 
hand  to  try  to  save  my  life.  Now,  do  you  think  I  could 
even  have  respect  for  that  man,  papa,  much  less  love  for 
him?" 

"Perhaps  he  did  not  recognize  you,  my  child.  If  he 
had,  I  am  quite  sure  he  would  have  done  all  in  his  power 
to  save  your  life." 

"  If  he  had  been  a  brave  man,  he  would  not  have  waited 
to  see  who  it  was.  He  knew  two  souls  were  on  the  brink 
of  eternity,  and  struggling  for  life,  and  he  would  not  raise 
a  hand  to  save  us,  and  I  have  had  a  perfect  contempt  for 
him  ever  since.  Besides,  he  turned  poor  Mrs.  Williams 
out  into  the  street,  "with  her  five  orphan  children,  without 
a  morsel  to  eat,  because  she  was  sick  and  could  not  pay 
the  rent,  while  he  had  thousands  of  dollars  in  his  pocket. 
I  don't  suppose  he  ever  gave  a  dollar  for  benevolent  pur- 
poses in  his  life ;  and  if  he  did,  I  guess  he  made  it  up  by 
cheating  his  laborers  out  of  their  honest  wages/' 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  233 

"You  are  too  hard,  Birdie,"  said  her  father.  "Upon 
my  word,  if  you  women  don't  remind  me  of  fire-crackers 
—all  that  is  required  is  to  strike  a  match,  and  if  they  don't 
go  off  I'm  a  Dutchman." 

Birdie  made  no  reply  to  this — perhaps  because  she  had 
not  one  ready. 

"  I  shall  not  live  long,  my  child,  and  I  want  you  to 
marry  some  good  man  who  will  be  able  to  bestow  the 
same  tender  care  upon  you  that  I  have  done,"  he  added, 
stroking  her  hair. 

' '  I  shall  never  leave  you,  papa — never,  never,  so  long 
as  we  both  live,"  and  a  tear  came  into  her  eyes  and  trem- 
bled upon  the  lids.  She  is  sitting  on  his  knee  now,  with 
her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  her  cheek  against  his ;  and 
he  is  holding  her  sweet,  lissome  figure  close  to  his  heart. 
She  is  the  one  thing  he  has  to  love  on  earth,  and  just  now 
she  seems  unspeakably,  almost  painfully,  dear  to  him. 

"Always,  my  dear?"  he  reiterated,  with  somewhat  of 
unsteadiness. 

"Yes,  always;  and  I  love  you,  papa,  better  than  any 
one  living ;  I  don't  want  you  to  ask  me  to  marry  that  Fen 
Scullcutter  any  more,  because  I  don't  want  to  disobey  you 
in  anything.  I  said  just  now  that  I  would  marry  him  to 
please  you,  but  that  would  not  be  right,  and  if  you  insist 
upon  my  marrying  him  I  shall  have  to  run  away  and  leave 
you,  and  that  will  kill  me  ;  and  then  you  will  have  no  one  * 
to  love  you." 


234  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

"My  darling,"  said  he,  "do  not  fear,  I  will  never  ask 
you  to  marry  him  or  any  one  else.  You  are  as  free  as  the 
wild  birds  in  the  forest ;  choose  for  yourself — but,  darling, 
make  a  good  choice." 

"  Thank  you,  papa,"  said  she;  "I  thank  you  for  those 
blessed  words,  and  I  .am  glad  from  my  heart  that  you  feel 
that  way ;  for  one-half  the  sin,  the  anguish,  and  the  heart- 
aches caused  by  unhappy  marriages  may  be  laid  at  the 
threshold  of  parents.  Before  a  girl  is  old  enough  to  think 
for  herself,  or  to  know  her  own  mind,  her  parents  are  plan- 
ning and  surmising  and  contriving  in  every  possible  way 
to  get  her  a  husband,  just  as  if  marriage  was  the  only  aim 
of  a  woman's  life,  or  her  only  vocation.  Instead  of  teach- 
ing girls  the  duties  and  responsibilities  of  life — the  duties 
they  owe  to  their  parents  and  themselves,  how  to  beautify 
and  make  their  homes  happy,  should  they  ever  be  fortu- 
nate enough  to  have  one — they  are  taught  to  sit  back  in 
idleness,  waiting  for  husbands  to  support  them;  and  the 
first  man  that  comes  along  the  girl  thinks  is  able  to  indulge 
her  in  laziness  and  extravagance,  she  marries.  And  should 
the  time  ever  come  when  he  fails  to  furnish  her  with  money 
and  servants,  she  hasn't  sense  enough  to  fill  her  position 
as  a  true  wife  should,  and,  consequently,  they  both  become 
tired  and  disgusted  with  each  other,  and  quarrels  and  con- 
tentions and  discords  follow,  with  a  divorce  suit  to  cap  the 
climax,  and  disgrace  comes  down  upon  the  heads  of  their 
innocent  offspring." 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  235 

"That  sin  can  never  be  laid  at  my  door,''  said  her 
father,  "for  you  have  been  raised  differently  from  what 
most  girls  have  been  in  your  position.  I  have  tried  to 
raise  you  right,  and  bring  you  up  in  a  manner  that  should 
fit  you  for  any  position  that  might  fall  to  your  lot,  and  I 
am  not  at  all  anxious  for  you  to  marry.  I  am  selfish 
enough  not  to  want  you  to  leave  me  even  for  one  day; 
but  I  know  my  time  is  short  in  this  world,  and  when  I  am 
gone  you  will  be  left  alone  without  a  friend,  and,  perhaps, 
without  a  dollar.  I  may  not  be  able  to  leave  you  even  a 
home.  It  is  a  hard  thing  for  me  to  say,  daughter,  and 
my  poor  heart  is  well-nigh  broken,  but  it  is  true — yes,  it 
is  true,  and  the  only  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  try  and 
marry  well.  I  can  not  bear  the  thought  of  my  little  Birdie 
being  torn  from  her  feathery  nest  to  perch  upon  some  leaf- 
less branch,  to  be  beaten  by  the  storms  of  this  tempest- 
uous world." 

As  he  spoke  the  tears  streamed  down  his  withered 
cheek  and  fell  upon  Birdie's  white  hand  resting  upon  her 
father's  bosom. 

"My  poor,  dear  darling!"  said  she,  kissing  his  tear- 
stained  cheeks,  "how  you  are  wearing  and  fretting  your 
dear  life  out  for  my  sake,  when  poor,  simple  I  am  not 
worth  it.  You  have  already  done  more  than  I  could  ever 
repay  were  I  to  live  to  be  a  hundred ;  with  that  I  am  sat- 
isfied and  grateful.  Now,  don't  worry  any  more  about 
your  little  Birdie,  for  I  am  well  competent  to  take  care  of 


236  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

myself,  should  it  please  God  to  take  you  from  me,  which 
I  trust  He  will  not  until  I  am  ready  to  accompany  you  to 
yours  and  my  last  resting-place.  Now,  I  want  you  to  un- 
lock your  dear  old  heart  and  let  me  look  right  into  it — 
don't  keep  anything  concealed,  but  throw  open  every 
chamber,  parlor,  bed-room,  dining-room,  and  even  the 
kitchen,  and  let  me  know  everything  that  is  going  on. 
Do  you  hear  me,  papa?  Can  you  not  let  me  share  your 
sorrows,  when  I  have  shared  all  your  pleasures  ?  Tell  me 
now,  is  it  not  that  Scullcutter  that  has  caused  you  all  this 
trouble?  Do  you  owe  him  money,  papa?" 

"  Yes,  my  child,"  said  her  father,  "he  is  in  possession 
of  all  I  have;  he  has  a  mortgage  on  everything  I  possess, 
but  said  he  would  not  close  the  mortgage,  and  would  give 
me  time  to  pay  up  my  debts.  To-day,  when  he  was  here, 
he  confessed  his  love  for  you,  and  asked  for  your  hand  in 
marriage,  saying  that  if  you  consented  to  become  his  wife 
he  would  not  call  on  me  for  the  money,  and  that  I  might 
retain  my  property.  That  is  why  I  consented,  should  you 
care  enough  for  him  to  marry  him,  though  I  knew  he  was 
not  a  suitable  companion  for  you,  Birdie,  but  it  was  all  for 
your  sake,  my  darling,  all  for  your  sake." 

"  I  would  not  marry  him  if  he  were  worth  ten  millions  !  " 
said  Birdie,  turning  almost  purple  in  the  face ;  "  and 
should  I  ever  become  so  low  as  to  sell  myself  for  money  I 
will  not  be  purchased  by  my  grandfather ;  that  sin,  how- 
ever, shall  not  rest  upon  my  head  so  long  as  there  is  one 


A    UEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  237 

spark  of  true  womanhood  in  my  veins.  Any  woman  who- 
will  marry  a  man  merely  for  his  money  is  devoid  of  prin- 
ciple, and  would  be  equal  to  almost  any  crime  should  her 
morals  be  tested." 

"You  must  not  be  too  hard-on  your  own  sex,  my 
child,"  said  the  old  doctor,  laying  his  hand  upon  her  head, 
for  he  looked  upon  woman  as  being  a  little  lower  than 
angels,  and  just  above  the  head  of  man. 

"  Woman's  situation  is  a  very  perilous  one,"  he  added, 
with  much  gravity  ;  "if  she  be  blessed  with  husband  or 
father  to  protect  her  from  the  abuses  of  the  world,  the 
world  smiles  upon  her  and  makes  her  an  idol,  but  if  she 
has  neither,  and  no  money  to  purchase  friends,  and  be 
compelled  to  go  out  and  work  for  her  living,  that  moment 
the  damnable  finger  of  suspicion  is  pointed  at  her,  it 
matters  not  how  good  and  pure  her  life  has  been,  and 
society  is  ready  to  cast  her  out.  This  is  very  hard  for  a 
proud,  high-minded,  and  honorable  woman  to  endure; 
and  rather  than  bear  the  scorn  and  contempt  of  the  world 
she  will  sell  herself  to  some  old  man  for  his  money  that 
she  may  retain  herself  in  society.  I  mean  that  numerous 
class  of  narrow-minded,  little-souled  people  who  can  cover 
up  a  black  deed  with  a  gold  dollar  and  go  on  smiling,  and 
the  world  will  smile  back.  At  the  same  time,  they  would 
turn  up  their  noses  at  a  pocr  but  honorable  woman,  one 
who,  perhaps,  never  knew  how  to  do  a  mean  act,  and 
whose  shoes  they  are  not  worthy  to  unlace." 


238  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

"I  suppose,  then,"  said  Birdie,  "  that  when  I  go  out  to 
work  for  my  living  I  will  not  be  respectable." 

"You  will  not  hold  your  same  position  in  society," 
said  her  father.  "Those,  perhaps,  that  smile  upon  you 
now  will  only  give  you  a  slur." 

"Well,"  said  she,  with  a  sigh,  "I  shall  never  want  any 
one  to  smile  upon  me  again.  I  can  never  have  any  more 
confidence  in  any  one  save  you  and  Veary,  papa." 

"I  did  not  mean  to  chill  your  heart  against  humanity, 
my  child,"  said  he,  "for  there  are  some  good  people  in 
the  world  if  you  could  only  pick  them  out — firm  and  sub- 
stantial— without  them  the  world  would  be  of  little  con- 
sequence. Separate  the  wheat  from  the  chaff  and  put  it 
in  separate  piles  upon  the  ground,  in  a  few  days  the  chaff 
will  be  dispersed,  blown  away  by  every  passing  breeze, 
while  the  wheat  will  remain  firm,  and  should  there  come 
storms  sufficient  to  scatter  it  to  the  four  quarters  of  the 
world  it  will  sprout  up  and  bring  forth  good  grain,  while 
the  chaff  flies  hither  and  thither,  doing  no  good  in  the 
world,  and  finally  rots  and  leaves  no  footprints  behind  to 
tell  that  it  ever  existed.  Just  so  with  the  people  of  the 
world ;  if  you  were  to  pick  out  all  the  good  and  sensible 
people  and  leave  all  the  fools  I  doubt  whether  there  would 
be  enough  left  to  tell  the  tale ;  and  should  it  ever  fall  to 
your  lot  to  have  to  work  for  your  living,  bear  this  in  mind  : 
that  it  is  the  good  and  sensible  people  who  will  cry  out  God 
speed  you ;  they  are  the  wheat,  and  those  who  look  upon 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  239 

you  with  scorn  are  the  chaff,  and  will  soon  blow  away. 
But  it  was  not  my  intention  to  deliver  a  lecture  this  even- 
ing, and  as  you  are  pretty  well  posted  upon  the  subject  I 
will  desist,  with  your  permission." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE    CHAMBER    OF    DEATH. 

Night  had  drawn  its  sable  curtain,  stained  with  gold, 
over  the  sleeping  world ;  the  stars  looked  down  in  holy, 
solemn  peace ;  and  the  somber  trees  towering  upward 
and  lying  heavily  against  the  sky  seemed  to  hold  mystical 
converse  with  each  other,  and  looked  down  upon  the 
silent,  mournful  scene.  The  gurgling  brooks  murmured  in 
tranquil  measures  on  their  way.  There  was  a  whispering 
of  the  leaves  on  which  the  breath  of  heaven  played  music 
to  the  birds  that  slumbered.  The  far-off  sound  of  the 
katydids  could  be  heard  ;  the  crickets'  notes,  incessant  and 
unmusical,  tired  the  night.  All  nature  seemed  to  sink  in 
one  grand  repose,  and  misery  and  death  took  their  part. 

"Time  builds  on  the  ruins  itself  has  made.  It  destroys 
to  renew,  and  desolates  to  improve.  A  wise  and  benevo- 
lent Providence  has  thus  marked  its  progress  in  the  moral 
as  well  as  in  the  physical  world.  The  tide  which  has 
borne  past  generations  to  the  ocean  of  eternity  is  hasten- 
ing to  the  same  doom  the  living  mass  now  gliding  down- 
ward to  the  shoreless  and  unfathomed  reservoir."  Change 
and  decay  are  ever  at  work,  and  to-night  have  laid  fin- 

(240) 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  24! 

gers  heavily  upon  the  beautiful  home  of  Birdie  Sinclare. 
In  one  single  night  a  heavy  cloud,  black  and  murky,  has 
shut  down,  closing  out  all  the  sunshine  and  crushing  a 
pure  and  tender  heart.  In  the  darkened  room,  through 
the  closed  blinds  of  which  the  pale  rays  of  the  moon  are 
vainly  striving  to  enter,  lies  Dr.  Sinclare,  cold  and  rigid. 
The  sheet  is  reverently  drawn  across  the  motionless  limbs ; 
the  once  handsome,  quiet  face  is  hidden ;  all  around  is 
wrapped  in  solemn,  unutterable  silence — the  silence  that 
belongs  to  death  alone. 

A  sense  of  oppressive  calm  is  upon  everything  —  a 
feeling  of  loneliness,  vague  and  shadowy.  The  clock  has 
ticked  its  last  an  hour  ago,  and  now  stands  motionless  in 
its  place.  The  world"  without  moves  on  unheeding;  the 
world  within  knows  time  no  more ;  death  reigns  triumph- 
ant ;  life  sinks  into  insignificance.  Once  a  little  silver  ray, 
born  of  the  moon,  fell  in  through  some  unknown  chink, 
and  cast  itself  gleefully  upon  th'e  fair,  white  linen  of  the 
bed.  It  trembled  vivaciously,  now  here,  now  there,  in 
uncontrollable  joyousness,  as  though  seeking  in  its  gayety 
to  mock  the  grandeur  of  the  King  of  Terrors. 

"  Take  them,  O  Death,  and  bear  away 

Whatever  thou  canst  call  thine  own; 
Thine  image  stamped  upon  this  day 
Doth  give  thee  that,  and  that  alone. 

"  Take  them,  O  Grave!  and  let  them  lie 
Folded  upon  thy  narrow  shelves, 

16 


242  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

As  garments  by  the  soul  laid  by, 
And  precious  only  to  ourselves. 

"  Take  them,  O  Great  Eternity, 
Our  little  life,  'tis  but  a  gust 
That  bends  the  branches  of  the  trees, 
And  trails  its  blossoms  in  the  dust.'' 

When  Fen  Scullcutter  received  Birdie's  refusal,  he 
became  so  enraged  that  he  closed  the  mortgage  instantly, 
and  without  reservation.  Everything  was  advertised  to 
be  sold  at  sheriffs  sale,  even  the  beautiful,  peaceful  home 
where  Dr.  Sinclare  had  spent  the  happy  years  of  his  boy- 
hood, the  glory  of  his  manhood,  and  the  quiet,  peaceful 
days  of  his  old  age. 

Like  the  sturdy  oak  that  had  withstood  the  storms  of 
many  years,  and  at  last  felled  to  the  earth  by  the  wood- 
man's ax,  so  he  was  stricken  down  by  the  heavy  blow, 
crushed  and  broken. 

It  was  not  for  himself'he  mourned  his  loss,  but  for  the 
friendless  child  he  had  reared  and  had  learned  to  love  as 
his  own;  and  all  these  years  he  had  lived,  and  thought, 
and  hoped  but  for  her;  and  now,  all  is  at  an  end.  Never, 
until  now,  this  moment,  when  hope  has  flown,  and  mon- 
ster death  stares  him  in  the  face,  did  he  know  how  freely, 
how  altogether,  he  has  lavished  the  entire  affections  of  his 
heart  upon  her.  From  day  to  day  faithful  Birdie  sat  by 
her  father's  bedside,  anticipating  his  every  wish,  and  ad- 
ministering to  his  every  want. 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  243 

"Birdie,"  said  he,  a  few  minutes  before  his  death 
"come  and  sit  where  I  can  see  you,  my  darling,  where  I 
can  see  your  face ;  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  before 
I  go,  and  I  must  say  it  quick;  I  can  not  die  with  this 
heavy  weight  upon  my  heart." 

Birdie  took  a  seat  upon  the  bed  where  he  could  look 
upon  her  face,  stained  by  the  traces  of  tears  still  wet  upon 
her  cheeks,  and,  like  some  dew-spangled  flower,  she  looked 
more  lovely  in  her  tears. 

He  raised  his  eyes  and  gazed  tenderly  upon  her  as  she 
took  his  cold,  white  hand  in  hers,  and  said,  "What  weight 
can  you  have,  papa,  darling?  You  who  are  so  good,  so 
noble,  so  true — the  best  of  all  men.  Your  mind  is  wan- 
dering, dear;  it  is  only  the  fever  that  causes  you  to  have 
those  bad  feelings.  Now  banish  such  thoughts,  and  try 
to  sleep;  you  will  feel  better  when  you  awake." 

"  No,  darling,  I  am  in  my  right  mind,  but  the  uncertainty 
about  your  future  life  is  the  only  weight  that  presses  upon 
me,"  said  the  dying  man  with  some  excitement.  "  If  you 
were  provided  for,  I  could  die  happy ;  but  it  is  hard  to  die 
and  leave  you,  my  darling,  to  fight  this  cruel  world  alone 
and  unprotected — you  on  whom  I  have  lavished  all  the 
love  and  affection  of  my  lonely  heart — you,  Birdie,  you  ;  " 
— and  he  held  out  his  arms  as  though  he  expected  every 
moment  he  would  be  snatched  away  from  her  ere  he  could 
tell  her  all. 

She  threw  her  arms  around  him,  and  laid  her  head  upon 


244  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

the  pillow  close  to  him,  pressing  her  lips  to  his — the  soft, 
warm  lips  contrasted  so  painfully  with  those  pale,  cold 
ones  they  touched.  So  she  remained  for  some  minutes 
kissing  him  softly  every  now  and  again,  and  thinking  hope- 
lessly of  the  end. 

She  neither  sighed  nor  wept  nor  made  any  outward 
sign  of  anguish.  Unlike  most  people,  she  had  realized  to 
its  full  extent  the  awfulness  of  this  thing  that  was  about  to 
befall  her ;  and  the  knowledge  paralyzed  her  senses,  ren- 
dering her  dull  with  misery.  "Papa,  darling,  do  not  think 
of  me,"  said  Birdie,  in  a  voice  so  unnaturally  calm  as  to 
betray  the  fact  that  she  was  making  a  supreme  effort  to 
steel  herself  against  the  betrayal  of  emotion  of  any  kind; 
but  in  her  heart  she  was  weeping  and  moaning  and  giving 
herself  up  wholly  to  that  grim  monster — despair. 

"  Do  not  think  of  you,  darling?  "  said  the  dying  man, 
pressing  her  closer  to  his  almost  pulseless  heart ;  "  it  would 
be  impossible,  my  little  orphan  ;  the  memory  of  your  dear, 
sweet  face  will  go  with  me  to  the  better  land,  and  I  shall 
know  you  one  day,  from  all  the  shining  hosts  of  God." 

As  the  clock  struck  two,  he  solved  or  ceased  to  heed 
the  engrossing  question  of  life.  The  glorious  mind,  and  the 
tried  and  faithful  heart  were  nothing  or  immortal.  In 
death,  as  in  life,  the  face  of  Dr.  Sinclare  bore  the  impres- 
sion of  that  intellect  which  placed  him  in  the  rank  with 
those  great  minds,  the  movers  of  the  nation  in  the  years 
gone  by.  The  countenance  wore  a  calm  and  peaceful  ex- 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  245 

pression.  The  massive  forehead,  broad  and  smooth, 
betrayed  no  sign  of  the  sufferings  through  which  the  body 
had  passed. 

His  death,  so  unexpected,  created  a  feeling  of  sorrow 
throughout  the  country.  The  press  of  his  own  and  other 
cities  paid  heartfelt,  full,  and  lofty  tribute  to  his  memory. 
The  funeral  was  the  largest  ever  seen  in  the  city.  The 
remains  were  deposited  in  the  family  vault  in  Cave  Hill ;  a 
few  remarks  were  made  by  the  man  of  God,  a  prayer  was 
offered,  and  the  iron  doors  closed  upon  the  cold,  rigid 
form,  to  await  the  last  summons  which  is  to  call  him  before 
the  great  Judge  of  the  universe. 

Birdie  lonely  and  sorrowfully  returned  to  her  desolate 
but  once  happy  home — though  hers  no  longer ;  but  I  trust 
that  the  glorious  rays  of  the  setting  sun  and  the  silvery 
gleam  of  the  evening  stars,  which  have  so  often  witnessed 
the  many  happy  days  she  has  spent  beneath  that  paternal 
roof,  may  still  fall  in  streams  of  softest  splendor  upon  her 
lonely  pathway,  and  that  white  winged  peace  may  hover 
around  her  while  other  scenes  and  other  pursuits  await 
her  upon  the  journey  of  life. 

The  blackest  clouds  but  hide  the  sunshine; 

Look  beyond  and  see  the  light, 
There's  future  pleasure  in  glad  sometime ; 

Live  on,  and  hope  for  days  more  bright. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    CONFESSION    OF    A    DYING    MAN. 

The  web  of  our  story  has  now  been  woven,  the  piece 
nearly  finished,  and  it  is  only  necessary  that  the  loose 
threads  should  be  collected,  so  that  there  may  be  no  un- 
raveling. In  such  chronicles  as  this,  something  no  doubt 
might  be  left  to  imagination  without  serious  injury  to  the 
narrative,  but  the  reader,  I  think,  feels  a  deficiency  when, 
through  tedium  or  coldness,  the  writer  omits  to  give  all  the 
information  which  she  or  he  possesses.  To  do  this,  we 
will  have  to  take  a  leap  backward  of  eighteen  years,  and 
not  only  in  time  but  in  distance. 

Eighteen  years  have  been  buried  in  the  vault  of  time 
since  we  saw  Dr.  St.  George  on  that  sweet  May  evening 
lying  a  helpless  mass  upon  his  wife's  grave.  Eighteen 
years  since  his  little  crowing  infant  was  snatched  ruthlessly 
away  from  his  protecting  care  and  loving  embrace,  leaving 
him  a  heart-broken  and  desolate  man.  Eighteen  years 
since  the  tragedy  of  sorrow  fell  between  him  and  the 
dawning  happiness  of  his  life,  though  prosperity  sits  upon 
the  house-top  and  proclaims  the  glory  of  his  success,  not 
only  as  an  eminent  physician,  but  in  all  his  business  rela- 

(246) 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  247 

tions,  and  to-day  finds  him  one  among  the  wealthy  citizens 
of  Kentucky.  Yet  all  this  does  not  bring  contentment 
to  his  restless  soul.  There  is  only  one  thing  alone  that 
will  bring  joy  to  his  heart,  peace  to  his  soul,  and  the  glad 
light  in  his  eyes,  and  that  is,  the  restoration  of  his  lost 
darling — to  see  her  face,  to  hear  her  voice,  and  feel  her 
arms  around  his  neck ;  but  he  knows  that  will  never  be — 
that  he  will  never  behold  her  face  again,  or  hear  her  lips 
utter  that  blessed  word,  ''father." 

He  had  offered  large  sums  of  money  for  her  recovery, 
but  in  spite  of  all  that  was  said  and  done,  she  remained 
undiscovered.  Months  grew  into  years,  and  the  same 
mystery  prevailed.  He  was  desperate  at  first — his  anguish 
and  sorrow  were  pitiful  to  witness ;  but  after  a  time  he 
grew  passive  in  his  despair,  though  he  never  relaxed  in  his 
efforts.  Every  six  months  the  advertisement  with  the  offer 
of  reward  was  renewed ;  every  six  months  the  story  was 
retold  in  the  papers.  It  had  become  one  of  the  common 
topics  of  the  day ;  people  talked  of  her  strange  disappear- 
ance, of  the  mysterious  silence  that  had  fallen  over  her. 
Then,  as  years  passed  on,  it  was  agreed  that  she  was  dead. 

After  years  of  bitter  disappointment,  of  anguish  and 
suspense,  .of  unutterable  sorrow  and  despair,  he  resigned 
himself  to  the  entire  loss  of  his  child.  Then  there  came  a 
letter  to  him  one  day,  requesting  him  to  come  to  his  dying 
child.  He  went  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  before  him  lay 
a  beautiful  little  girl,  who  was  already  embraced  in  the 


248  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

arms  of  death,  and  erelong  her  little  cold  hands  were  fold- 
ed peacefully  across  her  pulseless  heart.  He  was  told  by 
the  keeper  of  the  house  that  it  was  his  child,  and  how 
could  he  dispute  it,  when  the  little  gold  chain  and  locket 
with  his  wife's  miniature  was  around  its  neck?  He  knew 
there  was  no  disputing  that,  and  he  knew,  too,  that  it  was 
the  same  that  had  been  placed  around  its  neck  upon  the 
eve  of  their  departure  for  the  springs.  After  paying  the 
man  a  large  sum  of  money,  he  took  the  child  to  his  own 
beautiful  home  and  laid  it  to  rest  by  the  side  of  his  wife, 
and  planted  flowers  over  her  little  grave;  and  the  dark 
green  ivy  that  trailed  so  gracefully  around  his  wife's  tomb 
soon  embraced  the  marble  slab  of  the  little  unknown. 
And  all  these  years  he  believed  that  his  little  darling  was 
sleeping  beneath  that  little  green  mound  beneath  the 
roses;  and  often  his  friends  would  find  him  there  in  the 
still,  quiet  hours  of  the  night  pouring  out  his  grief  upon 
her  little  grave. 

One  evening  in  May  he  was  sitting  alone  in  his  office 
and  thinking  sadly  of  the  past,  the  past  that  had  brought 
him  so  much  sorrow  and  had  given  him  so  little  joy. 

It  seems  impossible,  while  looking  on  the  surging  cata- 
ract dashing  itself  in  thunder  on  the  rocks  below,  to  real- 
ize that  a  few  miles  further  it  runs  a  smooth  and  rapid, 
rippling  river  between  fair,  green  banks.  So  it  is  impos- 
sible at  the  time  of  a  tragedy  of  life  and  death  to  realize 
that  the  currents  of  the  surviving  lives  will  but  a  brief 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  249 

while  hence  run  smooth  and  waveless  again.  Yet  look, 
how  from  the  whirlpool  of  the  cataract  the  stream  strug- 
gles free  at  last  from  the  circling  eddies,  and  bursts  over 
and  through  the  rocks  until  it  gains  the  channel,  where  it 
flows  on  swiftly  and  smoothly  a  gurgling  meadow-stream 
again.  Dr.  St.  George's  life  had  been  like  the  struggling 
stream  in  the  circling  eddies;  but  he  has  weathered  the 
storm,  and  ere  many  days  he  will  clear  the  breakers  and 
be  safe  from  sunken  rocks,  and  his  life  will  flow  on  in  an 
unruffled  current  to  its  utter  peace. 

Before  him  lies  a  letter  with  no  postmark,  and  written 
in  an  unknown  hand.  It  had  been  left  upon  his  table  and 
the  bearer  had  gone.  He  opened  it  and  found  there  a  few 
scrawls,  which  read  as  follows: 

"Dr.  St.  George: 

"DEAR  SIR:  At  the  request  of  John  Nailar,  who  is  now  dying,  I  have 
written  to  you  to  come  to  his  room  immediately,  which  you  will  find  at 

No.  — ,  in  the  fourth  story  of  the  building  on  street.     He  also 

requested  me  to  say  to  you  that  he  wished  to  make  a  dying  confession  to 
you.  I  would  advise  you  to  come  immediately,  as  it  may  be  concerning 
your  lost  child.  Do  not  delay  as  he  is  passing  away  rapidly.  I  am  the 
rector  of  Trinity  Church,  and  his  spiritual  adviser. 

"M.  W.  WARWIN." 

Dr.  St.  George  hastily  folded  the  letter  and  placed  it  in 
his  vest-pocket,  and  sprang  into  his  buggy  which  was 
already  at  the  door  and  drove  through  the  streets  like  a 
madman,  while  a  thousand  conflicting  emotions  were 
throbbing  and  surging  through  his  brain. 


25O  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

On  a  narrow,  noisy,  dirty  street,  up  four  flights  of 
steps,  in  a  gritty,  gray,  barren  abode,  where  the  rays  of 
the  glorious  sun  never  streamed,  or  the  songs  of  the  birds 
were  never  heard,  Dr.  St.  George  found  the  dying  man. 
He  tapped  gently  upon  the  door,  which  was  opened  by 
the  minister  who  said,  ' '  I  was  very  much  afraid  that  you 
would  be  too  late,  doctor.  He  is  nearly  gone." 

Dr.  St.  George  went  up  to  the  bed ;  a  thrill  of  horror 
ran  through  his  frame  as  the  dying  man  turned  his  blood- 
shot eyes  up  to  him  and  held  out  his  hand,  which  the 
doctor  took  in  his  own  and  said, ' '  What  can  I  do  for  you,  my 
man?"  He  motioned  for  him  to  sit  down,  which  he  did 
after  giving  him  some  stimulant  which  seemed  to  revive 
him  and  bring  his  departing  spirit  back  to  the  world  again. 

' '  Now, "  said  Dr.  St.  George,  ' '  I  am  ready  to  hear 
what  you  have  to  tell  me,  and  you  must  tell  me  quick,  for 
you  are  not  long  for  this  world.  Take  this  pen,"  he  con- 
tinued, turning  to  the  minister,  "and  be  kind  enough  to 
take  note  of  every  word.  Write  it  plain  and  distinctly." 

"Raise  my  head  a  little  higher,"  gasped  the  dying 
man,  "and  give  me  a  little  more  of  that  wine." 

They  did  as  he  requested  them,  and  took  their  seats 
near  the  bed ;  he  was  very  weak,  and  his  breathing  was 
loud  and  heavy.  He  began  thus : 

"  My  name  is  John  Nailar,  and  I  am  in  my  right  mind. 
In  the  presence  of  Rev.  M.  \V.  Warwin  and  Dr.  St. 
George  I  make  a  full  confession  of  the  crime  committed 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  .251 

against  Dr.  St.  George,  eighteen  years  ago,  by  Fen  Scull- 
cutter,  of  No.  —  street,  and  myself.  Eighteen  years  ago 
I  came  to  this  city  an  escaped  convict  from  the  peniten- 
tiary at  Frankfort.  I  came  with  the  intention  of  obtain- 
ing employment,  but  failed  to  get  work,  and  just  as  I  was 
leaving  the  city  I  was  recognized  by  Fen  Scullcutter,  who 
knew  me,  and  was  aware  that  I  was  an  escaped  convict.  I 
begged  him  not  to  betray  me  and  I  would  try  and  live  a 
better  life.  He  promised  me  he  would  not  if  I  would 
befriend  him.  '  I  will  do  anything  for  you  that  lies  in  my 
power,'  I  replied. 

"'It  is  a  neat  little  job,"  said  he,  'but  I  don't  want 
you  to  do  it  for  nothing  ;  I  will  pay  you  well.  Now,  can 
I  trust  you  ?  ' 

"  'You  can,'  said  I,  for  I  was  only  too  glad  to  find 
some  means  of  making  a  few  dollars,  as  I  was  nearly 
starved  and  bare  of  clothes. 

"  'Well,'  said  he,  drawing  a  long  breath  and  looking 
as  if  he  was  suffocating,  '  I  want  you  to  steal  Dr.  St. 
George's  child  and  place  it  in  my  hands,  and  the  moment 
you  do  it  I  will  give  you  one  thousand  dollars.' 

' '  '  What  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  good  and  peaceable 
are  you  going  to  do  with  a  baby?  "  said  I,  laughing;  'are 
you  going  to  start  a  nursery,  and  run  it  on  your  own 
hook  ? ' 

"'Ask  no  questions,'  he  answered,  'but  do  as  I  bid 
you,  if  you  want  the  money.' 


252  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

"  '  I  do  want  it!  '  said  I,  'and  I  know  that  I  am  a 
rascal,  but  blame  me  if  I  can  see  foul  play  used  against  an 
innocent  child !  If  you  mean  to  put  it  out  of  the  way, 
you  will  have  to  get  some  one  else  to  do  your  dirty  work, 
but  if  you  are  not  going  to  harm  the  little  thing,  I  am  your 
man.' 

"  '  The  infant  shall  not  be  harmed;  not  a  hair  upon  its 
head  shall  be  hurt!'  he  replied.  'You  see,'  said  he, 
'  Dr.  St.  George's  child  stands  between  me  and  a  half  mill- 
ion dollars.  There  was  an  old  fool  of  an  aunt  who  made 
her  will  and  gave  her  entire  fortune  to  this  child  And 
should  this  child  die,  then  my  child,  who  is  a  cousin  to  the 
former,  would  inherit  the  property.' 

"  '  What  do  you  intend  doing  with  the  baby  ? '  said  I. 

"  'I  shall  take  it  to  some  orphan  asylum,  out  of  this 
State,  where  it  will  be  taken  care  of,'  he  replied. 

"  '  I  hate  to  do  it,'  said  I,  'but  I  must  have  money  ! ' 

"  '  Don't  act  the  fool !  '  said  he,  'and  you  will  get  as 
much  money  as  you  want ;  and  I  promise  you  the  child 
shall  not  be  hurt.' 

"  '  I  will  do  it !  '  I  replied,  '  but  how  am  I  to  get  it  ? ' 

"  '  I  will  put  you  in  a  way  to  get  it,'  said  he,  pulling 
out  a  Courier-Journal,  and  he  read  this  advertisement : 

"  '  WANTED — A  good,  competent  woman,  to  accompany  a  family  to 
the  springs,  as  nurse.  Must  come  well  recommended.  Apply  at  the 
office  of  EUGENE  ST.  GEORGE.' 

"'Now,'  said  he,  'this  is  your  time.     Go  and  dress 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  253 

yourself  as  a  woman  and  apply  for  the  situation.  I  will 
write  you  a  recommendation  and  sign  the  fictitious 
name  of  some  woman  in  Cincinnati.  You  understand ; 
and  if  you  are  successful  in  obtaining  the  situation,  jump 
from  the  train  at  night,  while  the  mother  is  asleep.  I  will 
find  out  what  time  she  will  leave,  and  the  day  before  I  will 
leave  for  Cincinnati,  and  will  remain  for  several  weeks  on 
business — you  understand — until  the  fuss  blows  over.  No 
one  will  suspect  me,  of  course,  but  I  had  rather  not  be 
here.  The  day  before  you  leave  you  must  write  me  where 
to  meet  you,  and  I  will  take  you  some  men's  clothes  and 
the  money.' 

"  I  did  just  as  he  told  me  to  do,  and  I  obtained  the  situ- 
ation and  set  out  with  Mrs.  St.  George  to  the  White  Sul- 
phur Springs,  and  just  at  the  hour  of  two  I  leaped  from 
the  train  with  the  infant  in  my  arms.  I  did  it  so  quickly  I 
was  not  discovered,  and  at  daybreak  I  reached  the  spot 
where  I  had  written  for  him  to  meet  me,  but  I  failed  to 
send  the  letter,  and  consequently  he  was  not  there.  I 
remained  until  nine  o'clock,  when  the  little  thing  that  I 
had  taken  from  its  mother's  breast  began  crying  for  food. 
I  laid  it  down  upon  a  pile  of  straw,  and  went  to  a  house 
not  far  off  in  search  of  something  for  it  to  eat,  and  when  I 
returned  the  baby  was  gone.  I  heard  a  noise  in  the  air, 
and  looked  up  in  time  to  see  a  large  eagle  bearing  it  above 
the  trees  in  his  claws.  I  closed  my  eyes  and  fell  upon  my 
knees  and  asked  God  to  forgive  me  for  the  wrong  I  had 


254  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

done  the  poor  mother  of  that  innocent  babe,  and  I  wept 
tears  of  sorrow  and  repentance,  a  thing  I  had  not  done 
since  I  was  a  babe  upon  my  mother's  knee ;  for  I  had  learned 
to  love  the  little  thing,  it  nestled  its  little  head  so  lovingly 
and  trustingly  upon  my  breast,  and  smiled  so  sweetly  up 
into  my  face.  My  conscience  lashed  me,  and  I  would  have 
given  the  thousand  dollars,  freely,  to  have  laid  it  in  its 
mother's  arms.  I  heard  of  her  death  after  that,  and  of  its 
father's  grief,  and  I  could  not  remain  where  I  had  caused 
so  much  sorrow  and  anguish.  I  received  the  money  from 
Scullcutter,  and  left  the  city;  but  it  did  not  do  me  any 
good,  for  I  got  into  a  scrape,  and  it  took  every  cent  to  get 
me  out  of  it,  and  again  I  was  out  of  money  and  out  of 
work ;  but  the  devil,  who  was  always  planning  some  way 
for  me  to  make  my  living  dishonorably,  put  a  plan  into 
my  head.  My  dead  sister's  child,  a  little  girl  of  seven 
years  old,  died  while  she  was  with  me.  I  wrote  for  you 
to  come,  that  your  child  was  in  my  charge  and  was  dying, 
and  had  been  left  in  my  charge  by  an  unknown  man  who 
said  he  had  taken  it  for  revenge.  Then  I  took  the  chain 
and  locket  that  I  had  taken  from  your  child's  neck  on  the 
eve  of  your  wife's  departure  for  the  springs,  and  placed  it 
around  the  dying  child's  neck,  for  I  knew  you  would  not 
dispute  that,  for  your  wife's  miniature  was  in  it.  You 
came  and  paid  me  liberally  for  my  trouble,  and  carried  the 
child  home,  buried  it  by  the  side  of  your  wife.  Your 
baby  died  by  the  eagle's  claws." 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A    NAME.  255 

"  O,  God !  "  cried  Dr.  St.  George  in  a  voice  of  despair, 
as  he  clasped  his  hand  to  his  forehead  and  rushed  from  the 
room,  leaving  the  dying  man,  who  was  stretching  out  his 
white,  withered  hands,  imploring  forgiveness ;  but  he 
neither  heard  nor  heeded  him,  but  rushed  out  in  the  open 
air,  pale  and  ghost-like,  leaving  him  to  die  without  hearing 
that  blessed  word,  "forgiveness." 

It  is  needless  to  add  what  followed.  Dr.  St.  George 
knew  his  prayers  were  answered — that  the  avenging  angel 
had  come  at  last.  Before  the  sun  had  hid  itself  behind 
the  church-spires,  Fen  Scullcutter  knew  his  doom,  and  the 
dying  man  had  gone  to  receive  his  verdict  from  the  great 
Judge  of  the  universe.  That  same  evening  Fen  Scullcut- 
ter was  arrested  for  the  abduction  of  Dr.  St.  George's 
child,  and  lodged  in  prison  to  await  his  trial,  which  would 
send  him  to  the  State  prison,  where  he  now  lies,  serving 
his  term  of  twenty-five  years.  Veary  Carlisle,  the  little 
boy  who  was  spurned  from  his  door  with  curses  and  in- 
sults, was  the  attorney  for  the  plaintiff;  and  never  did  a 
lawyer  plead  with  more  zeal  and  eloquence  for  the  convic- 
tion of  the  man  who  had  been  the  ruin  and  downfall  of  his 
father,  sending  him  to  a  drunkard's  grave,  and  leaving  his 
destitute  and  suffering  mother  to  die  with  a  broken  heart. 

"I  will  avenge,"  saith  the  Lord. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

NOT    DEAD,     BUT   LIVING — A    HAPPY    SURPRISE ENGAGEMENT. 

In  the  bay  window  of  the  beautiful  chamber  that  once 
called  her  mistress  sits  Birdie  Sinclare  all  alone,  with 
downcast  eyes  and  face  grave  and  sorrowful.  She  is 
dressed  in  deep  mourning  now,  which  is  very  becoming  to 
her  fair  complexion  and  sunny  hair.  Three  weeks  have 
passed  since  that  lonely  girl  followed  in  the  sad  procession 
that  bore  the  form  of  her  beloved  father  to  Cave  Hill 
Cemetery,  and  stood  by  the  open  grave,  and  heard  the 
solemn  sound  of  the  clods  as  they  fell  upon  his  coffin-lid. 
Three  weeks  have  passed,  yet  she  still  hears  the  echo  of 
that  hollow  sound,  and  hears  the  grinding  sound  of  the 
carriage,  wheels  as  she  looked  her  last  upon  the  little 
mound  that  marks  her  father's  lonely  resting-place ;  and 
with  a  sickening  dread  she  looks  forward  to  the  future  that 
still  lies  before  her.  It  seems  to  her  that  she  can  view, 
lying  stretched  out  in  the  far  distance,  a  lonely,  cheerless 
road,  over  which  she  must  travel,  whether  she  will  or  not — 
a  road  bare,  desolate,  dusty,  and  companionless  ;  devoid  of 
shade,  or  rest,  or  joy.  "  He  that  loses  hope,"  says  Con- 
gree,  "may  part  with  anything."  To  Birdie  it  seemed 

(256) 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  257 

as  though  hope  and  she  had  parted  company  forever.  The 
past  had  been  so  dear,  with  all  its  vague  beliefs  and  uncer- 
tain dreamings — all  too  sweet  for  realization — that  the 
present  appeared  unbearable.  The  veryair  seemed  dark, 
the  sky  leaden,  the  clouds  sad  and  lowering. 

The  young  soldier  endures  the  fatigues  and  privations 
of  the  march  gallantly,  and  looks  eagerly  forward  to  the 
crash  of  the  meeting  armies,  but  not  until  the  storm  of 
shot  sweeps  the  plains  and  the  death-dealing  fire  blazes 
through  the  pall  of  smoke  can  he  know  how  he  will  actu- 
ally bear  himself  in  the  hour  of  battle.  Let  no  human 
creature,  until  his  or  her  death,  be  called  happy.  Let  no 
human  creature,  till  his  or  her  death,  be  accounted  strong. 

"  Thank  God,  it  is  finished ! "  said  she,  as  she  put  the 
last  stroke  of  her  pen  upon  a  manuscript  that  lay  on  the 
table  before  her,  and  which  she  had  bent  over  all  night 
and  written  with  untiring  energy.  At  times  she  would  be 
oppressed  with  vague,  lonely  feelings — perhaps,  after  all, 
her  book  would  be  unsuccessful — and  a  sense  of  utter  des- 
olation would  come  over  her,  and  for  a  time  overpower 
her ;  and  with  a  brain  on  fire  and  a  heart  half  broken 
she  would  push  from  her  the  half-finished  sentence  and 
bury  her  face  in  her  hands  and  break  into  low  but  heavy 
weeping. 

"  Papa,  papa  !  "  was  the  common  refrain  of  all  her  sor- 
rowful dirges — the  sadder  that  no  response  ever  came  to 
the  lonely  cry. 
17 


v    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

Of  our  dead,  if  we  would  believe  them  happy,  we  must 
also  believe  tfiat  they  have  forgotten  us,  else  how,  when 
they  think  of  our  bleeding  hearts,  could  they  keep  their 
bliss  so  perfect? 

Mournful  as  Mariana  in  her  moated  grange,  the  poor 
child  lamented,  while  sobs  shook  her  slender  frame. 

Then  hope,  the  friend  of  the  sorrowful,  would  come 
with  its  healing  balm,  and  she  would  instinctively  feel  that 
no  matter  what  obstacles  might  be  thrown  in  her  way  she 
would  overcome  them — no  obstruction  should  hinder  her 
in  the  course  she  had  undertaken  to  pursue.  Nay,  diffi- 
culties would  but  increase  her  steadfastness  and  make  her 
more  energetic  and  more  persevering;  and,  as  if  aroused 
from  some  ugly  dream,  she  would  raise  her  head  with  a 
startled  look  upon  her  face,  and  take  up  her  pen  again  and 
write  eagerly  and  without  premeditation. 

She  tells  herself  that  she  will  be  a  brave  little  Amazon, 
and  will  bear  the  brunts  and  bluffs  of  the  world,  and  battle 
with  the  attacks  of  poverty,  starvation,  toil,  and  disap- 
pointments courageously  with  her  frail  little  hands;  that 
she  is  strong  enough  to  face  the  whole  world,  and  that  she 
will  not  become  disheartened  anymore.  "I  am  now  a 
citizen  of  the  world,"  she  said,  "and  have  no  place  I  can 
call  my  home,  but  I  care  not  for  this  world's  cold  charity; 
I  will  laugh  in  its  face!  " 

.Grief  and  misery  had  already  embittered  and  generated 
distrust  in  her  young  bosom ;  she  is  tired,  too  ;  all  day  she 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  259 

has  gone  through  wearying,  household  labor,  trying  to  get 
everything  in  order  for  the  sale  that  was  to  come  off  the 
next  week,  and  which  would  rob  her  of  her  beautiful 
home  which  had  ever  been  her  special  pride  and  admi- 
ration. 

We  often  pity  the  poor  because  they  have  not  leisure 
to  mourn  their  departed  relatives,  and  necessity  obliges 
them  to  labor  through  their  severest  afflictions ;  but  is  not 
active  employment  the  best  remedy  for  overwhelming  sor- 
row— the  surest  antidote  for  despair?  It  may  be  a  rough 
ccmforter;  it  may  seem  hard  to  be  harassed  with  the 
cares  of  life  when  we  have  no  relish  for  its  enjoyment — to 
be  goaded  to  labor  when  the  heart  is  ready  to  break  and 
the  vexed  spirit  implores  for  rest  only  to  weep  in  silence. 
But  is  not  labor  better  than  the  rest  we  covet?  and  are 
not  those  petty,  tormenting  cares  less  hurtful  than  a  con- 
tinual brooding  over  the  great  afflictions  that  oppress  us? 
Besides,  we  can  not  have  cares  and  anxieties  and  toils 
without  hope,  if  it  be  but  the  hope  of  fulfilling  our  joyless 
task,  accomplishing  some  needful  project  or  escaping  some 
further  annoyance. 

In  most  cases  trouble,  when  it  comes,  is  easier  to  bear 
than  we  anticipate.  After  being  tormented  for  a  long 
time  with  dread  and  apprehensions,  after  the  crisis  is  past 
and  the  blow  has  fallen,  we  resign  ourselves  to  it  with 
wonderlul  p:itience.  This  is  particularly  true  in  respect  to 
pecuniary  losses.  The  man  who  tossed  lor  many  a  weary 


26O  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

month  on  an  uneasy  and  sleepless  couch  may  lie  down  in 
pleasant  dreams  after  the  crash  is  over.  There  is  no  agony 
like  that  of  suspense. 

Again,  there  is  nothing  gained  by  meeting  trouble  half 
way.  Every  person  is  certain  that  sooner  or  later  certain 
things  must  happen  to  them,  which  they  have  cause  to 
dread,  but  it  would  be  very  unwise  to  allow  these  fore- 
shadowings  of  the  future  to  envelop  our  daily  walks  with 
gloom.  We  know  that  within  a  limited  number  of  years 
we  must  either  have  closed  our  eyes  upon  all  that  is  fair 
and  beautiful  here,  or  else  live  on  beyond  the  allotted  span 
of  life.  Live  for  the  present  as  far  as  possible;  trouble 
may  lie  in  the  future,  but  wait  until  it  comes  before  you 
fret.  What  is  life  when  stripped  of  all  its  disguises  ?  A 
thing  to  be  desired  it  can  not  be.  With  Birdie  it  seemed 
almost  at  an  end.  An  unsatisfactory  thing,  too,  at  its  best 
— a  mere  glimpse  into  the  world  of  "might  have  been." 

The  windows  leading  from  Birdie's  room  into  the  green 
veranda  are  thrown  open ;  the  dew  is  glittering  still  like 
a  shower  of  diamonds  on  the  white  blossoms  of  the 
syringa  that  climbs  around  the  window-frame;  the  early 
sun  glints  into  the  room  and  twines  his  golden  fingers  lov- 
ingly amid  the  petals  of  the  white  flowers  which  Birdie  had 
just  gathered  and  laid  upon  the  table,  and  which  will  soon 
be  woven  into  wreaths  and  festoons,  to  be  laid  with  gentle 
hands  upon  the  grave  of  that  beloved  father  who  had  pre- 
ceded her  to  the  better  land ;  for  sweet  May  had  come 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  26l 

again  with  its  songs  of  birds,  and  sparkling  fountains,  and 
to-day  is  decoration-day.  And  as  she  sits  there  twining 
the  tender  flowers  with  her  tiny  fingers,  a  spiritual  fire 
seems  to  blaze  in  her  eyes,  which  wear  so  divine  a  look 
that  it  seems  as  though  the  soul  were  so  far  stronger  than 
the  body  that  it  was  but  tarrying  for  a  day  before  it  spread 
its  eternal  wings — a  captive  too  strong  for  the  frail  bars  of 
life  to  imprison.  All  around  her  seemed  hallowed  by  the 
ineffable  shadow  and  glory  of  that  parental  love  that  has 
no  more  to  say  to  earth — a  love  that  would  last  while 
memory  lasted — a  memory  that  would  endure  during  life. 
Now  and  then  a  pearly  drop  would  trickle  down  her 
cheeks  and  mingle  with  the  dewdrops  upon  the  petals  of 
the  flowers,  as  she  wove  them  artistically  into  a  wreath. 

She  had  finished  her  manuscript  long  before  the 
clock  struck  five,  but  the  thoughts  of  the  coming  morrow 
crowded  the  sleep  from  her  weary  brain,  and  she  sought 
her  beloved  garden  and  plucked  the  dew-spangled  flowers, 
just  as  Aurora's  rosy  light  was  making  dim  the  mild,  mel- 
low ray  of  the  moon  and  stars,  that  had  kept  their  vigil 
so  faithfully  as  she  traced  upon  the  white  pages  in  letters 
of  fire  the  memory  of  happier  days. 

After  completing  her  work,  she  arose  and  went  down 
to  the  dining-room  where  a  fragrant  steam  curled  from  the 
silver  spout  of  the  tall  coffee-pot ;  the  covered  dishes  look- 
ing temptingly  suggestive,  and  the  crisp,  hot  toast  so  beau- 
tifully brown ;  but  Birdie  had  no  taste  for  anything.  She 


262  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

stirs  her  coffee,  and  breaks  up  some  pieces  of  toast  in  her 
plate  but  touches  nothing  herself,  though  she  pours  milk 
into  the  saucer  and  sets  it  down  for  the  cat,  and  flings 
crumbs  on  the  veranda  for  the  birds. 

"Why  don't  you  eat  something  yourself,  Miss  Bir- 
die?" said  her  maid,  looking  pityingly  upon  her  mistress. 
"You  can  not  live  without  eating,"  she  continued,  "  and 
I  do  hate  to  see  dem  roses  leave  your  cheeks ;  you  don't 
know  how  it  hurts  my  heart,"  and  the  poor  negro  sighed 
as  she  took  the  food  from  the  table  untouched,  and  carried 
it  to  the  kitchen  to  be  devoured  by  the  hungry  servants. 

"I  am  glad  some  one  cares  for  me,  Sallie,  if  it  is  only 
a  humble  servant,"  said  Birdie,  rising,  "I  shall  not  feel 
quite  so  desolate  now." 

"Ah,  Miss  Birdie,"  said  Sallie,  with  a  shake  of  her 
head,  "there  is  plenty  who  would  be  glad  enough  to  care 
for  you  if  you  would  only  let  them." 

"You  are  better  informed  of  the  fact  than  I  am,  "said 
Birdie,  smiling;  "pray  where  did  you  get  your  informa- 
tion?" 

Sallie  hesitated  awhile,  thinking  perhaps  she  was  going 
too  far,  but  Birdie's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  with  such  a 
searching  gaze  she  had  to  say  something. 

"Joe  told  me,"  she  said;  "but,  Miss  Birdie,  I  would 
not  have  you  to  say  anything  about  it  for  Joe's  sake,  be- 
cause his  young  master  would  be  displeased  if  he  knew  he 
was  carryin'  news." 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  263 

"You  are  talking  problems,"  said  Birdie;  "pray 
express  yourself.  Who  are  Joe  and  his  young  master?" 

"Why,  don't  you  know,  Miss  Birdie,"  said  Sallie, 
"  Mr.  Elmore,  and  Joe  is  his  waiting  boy,  who  goes  wid 
me  sometimes." 

"Well,  what  about  Mr.  Elmore?"  exclaimed  Birdie, 
questioningly. 

"  Why,  Joe  told  me  if  it  had  not  been  for  Miss  Birdie 
Sinclare,  his  young  master  would  not  leave  so  soon  for  the 
foreign  countries,  and  said  that  you  were  going  to  marry 
that  Mr.  Scullcutter,  and  he  could  not  bear  to  be  so  near 
you  and  see  you  the  wife  of  another,  and  so  he  leaves 
to-day,  and  he  says  the  old  judge's  heart  is  well  nigh 
broken." 

' '  I  wonder  who  told  him  I  was  going  to  marry  Fen 
Scullcutter?"  said  Birdie,  more  to  herself  than  to  the 
servant. 

"Why,  Mr.  Scullcutter  told  Mr.  Elmore  himself,  and 
said  that  the  doctor  had  given  his  full  consent  to  the  mar- 
riage, for  Joe  heard  Mr.  Elmore  tell  his  father  so  one  day 
when  they  were  riding  out  together." 

' '  I  know  now  why  Veary  Elmore  spoke  to  me  as  he 
did  the  other  morning  when  he  told  me  good-bye ;  I  did 
not  understand  it  then,  'I  hope  the  day  will  never  come 
that  you  will  be  compelled  to  look  back  with  regret  on  one 
single  act  of  your  life,  and  should  the  time  ever  come  when 
you  will  stand  in  need  of  a  friend,  look  to  me  as  you  would 


264  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

a  brother, '  "  said  she,  as  she  left  the  house  for  her  usual  morn- 
ing walk  before  she  went  to  the  cemetery. 

"A  brother,"  said  Birdie,  her  lips  trembling,  "when 
all  these  months  I  have  loved  him  with  all  the  strength  of 
my  heart,"  and  she  blushed  at  the  confession,  when  only 
the  birds  and  the  flowers  were  her  confessors;  and  the 
only  answer  that  came  to  her  was  the  dull  echo  of  her  own 
sad  thoughts.  On  she  walked,  not  knowing  or  caring 
where  she  went;  heeding  not  the  flight  of  time  or  the 
loveliness  of  the  morning,  for  it  was  a  glorious  day,  and 
was  worth  a  whole  lifetime  of  common  life.  The  trees 
were  all  in  leaf,  the  great,  swaying  boughs  seemed  to  thrill 
with  life,  the  leaves  were  of  the  loveliest  green,  so  fresh, 
so  tender,  and  delicate  in  hue,  as  they  clapped  their  tiny 
hands  in  honor  of  the  glorious  queen  of  the  season,  for 
the  stern  old  monarch  had  yielded  his  scepter,  and  the 
snow  and  ice  were  as  a  dream  that  had  been  told.  The 
honey-bees  were  floating  from  flower  to  flower,  their 
golden  belts  glittering  and  flashing  in  the  glorious  sunlight 
that  the  god  of  day  had  flung  broadcast  upon  the  loving 
earth. 

High  and  clear  and  exquisite  rose  the  notes  of  the  birds, 
one  above  the  other,  each  vying  in  beauteous  harmony 
with  the  last  until  one's  very  heart  ached  for  love  and  ad- 
miration of  this  sweetness.  All  nature  had  arisen  from 
its  long  slumbers,  and  beauty  walked  in  bravest  dress. 
There  was  the  hawthorn  in  robes  of  white ;  the  laburnum 


A    BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  265 

dropping  their  golden  tresses  ;  the  lilac  tossing  its  fragrant 
plumes  ;  and  over  the  whole  the  knightly  chestnuts  were 
brooding  like  protecting  angels.  Under  the  trees  the 
green  moss  grew  thick  and  rich ;  the  yellow  cowslip,  the 
pale  sweet  primrose,  and  delicate  bluebells  made  a  carpet 
such  as  the  hand  of  man  could  not  weave. 

As  Birdie  was  just  hiding  herself  from  view  by  the 
heavy  foliage  as  she  tripped  through  this  flowery  meadow, 
a  young  man  was  seen  riding  gracefully  up  the  gravel 
walk  that  led  to  her  home.  A  strange,  wild,  but  sweet 
expression  rested  upon  his  face  as  he  placed  his  hand  upon 
the  door-knob  and  gave  an  impatient  jerk  at  the  bell. 

11  Is  Miss  Birdie  at  home?"  he  asked,  excitedly. 

To  which  question  the  butler  replied  that  Miss  Birdie 
was  at  home,  but  was  out  taking  a  walk,  he  believed,  but 
would  send  for  her. 

To  this  the  young  man  objected,  saying  that  he  would 
go  in  search  of  her  himself  if  he  would  direct  him,  which 
the  butler  did,  and  he  set  out  in  the  direction  Birdie  had 
gone,  whistling — well,  he  did  not  know  what,  for  the 
troubled  waters  of  his  soul  were  stirred,  never  to  know 
their  perfect  peace  until  fate  should  again  bring  him  face 
to  face  with  the  girl  whom  fate  had  given  him  a  right  to 
claim,  and  whom  fate  had  taken  away.  His  own  little 
Birdie,  the  fair-haired  baby  whom  he  had  risked  his  own 
life  to  save  from  the  eagle's  bloody  fangs,  and  xvhose  baby 
head  had  rested  upon  his  boy  shoulder ;  and  with  untiring 


266  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

energy  rocked  it  to  sleep  in  his  own  arms,  and  by  the  bed- 
side of  his  dying  mother  knelt  together  and  poured  out 
their  grief  upon  each  other's  breast. 

On  he  went,  thinking  how  she  would  receive  him, 
what  would  she  say,  how  would  she  act,  when  he  told  her 
who  he  was?  His  face  was  flushed,  and  a  glad  light  was 
in  his  eyes ;  he  never  looked  so  handsome  in  his  life. 

"I  have  a  better  right  to  her  than  any  man  living,"  he 
exclaimed,  as  he  hurried  along.  "I  will  claim  that  right, 
I  will  be  her  protector  if  she  will  let  me.  I  will  be  to  her 
as  I  once  was — father,  mother,  brother,  and  sister.  Noth- 
ing but  her  own  sweet  will  shall  separate  her  from  me." 

On  he  went  unmindful  of  the  glory  around  him,  know- 
ing nothing,  heeding  nothing  save  the  footprints  of  her 
he  was  tracing  until  he  glided  into  a  region  wherein  only 
fairies  should  have  a  right  to  dwell. 

Far  as  the  eye  could  reach  myriads  of  bluebells  spread 
themselves,  and  as  the  wanton  wind  stooped  to  caress 
them  they  shook  their  tiny  bells  with  coquettish  grace,  and 
flung  forth  their  perfume  to  him  with  a  lavish  will. 

"  Is  it  even  possible  to  find  her  here  in  such  an  obscure 
place  as  this,  where  positively  everything  seems  to  be 
playing  hurly  burly,  making  a  perfect  hurrah's  nest,  so 
one  could  not  see  farther  than  one's  nose  ?  Perhaps  after 
all  she  is  not  here,  but  has  returned  to  the  house  by 
another  direction  and  is  now — . " 

The  sentence  was  never  finished,  for  suddenly  across 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  267 

the  flowers  and  ferns,  there  came  to  him  a  fresh,  sweet 
voice  that  thrilled  him  to  his  very  heart. 

"It  is  she,"  and  there  in  the  distance  he  could  see  her 
sitting  with  her  golden,  coquettish  locks  playing  hide-and- 
seek  with  Euros  round  a  sun-kissed  corner  of  a  hanging 
rock.  She  was  leaning  forward,  having  taken  her  knees 
well  into  her  embrace.  Her  hat  was  lying  upon  the  grass 
at  her  feet.  She  was  dressed  in  deep  mourning,  with  a 
ruche  of  white  crepe  at  her  neck  and  sleeves. 

Clear  and  sweet  her  voice  rose  on  the  wind,  and  reached 
his  ear  and  moved  him  as  no  other  voice  ever  had  or  will 
ever  again  have  power  to  move. 

We  have  met,  we  have  loved,  we  have  parted, 
To  forget  thee,  my  darling,  I  can  never, 

For  the  love  our  childhood  hath  cherished 
The  cold  hand  of  death  can  not  sever. 

The  kind  wind  brought  the  tender,  passionate  song  to 
him  and  repeated  it  in  his  ears  as  it  hurried  onward.  How 
exactly  the  words  suit  her !  He  says  them  over  and  over 
again  to  himself,  almost  losing  the  rest  of  the  music  which 
she  is  still  breathing  forth  to  the  morning  air,  and  which  is 
caught  up  by  the  birds  and  echoed  as  they  stop  their  own 
songs  to  listen. 

He  is  quite  close  to  her  now,  so  close  that  he  can  see 
a  pearly  drop  trembling  in  her  violet  eyes — that  tear  had 
come  from  a  fountain  that  had  been  stirred  by  Memory's 


268  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

finger,   touching  the  heart-strings  which  had  been  set  to 
music  by  sorrow's  tuning-fork. 

On  this  morning  she  had  been  thinking  of  Veary  El- 
more,  of  his  departure  to  Europe,  of  the  months  and  years 
that  would  roll  between  ere  they  met  again,  and  perhaps, 
never.  She  knew  now  that  he  loved  her,  that  his  heart 
was  wholly  hers,  and  that  Fen  Scullcutter  was  the  cause  of 
his  not  telling  her  of  his  love  ;  and  there  arose  a  bitterness 
in  her  heart  for  the  man  who  had  caused  all  her  sorrow. 
She  thought,  too,  of  Veary  Carlisle,  her  little  foster-brother 
whose  bravery  had  made  for  him  a  death-bed  beneath  the 
dark,  deep  waters  of  the  Ohio. 

"If  he  had  lived,  I  now  would  have  a  friend  and 
brother,"  she  said,  mournfully.  "  O,  how  I  would  love 
him !  Dear,  dear  Veary,  how  I  begrudge  you  your  heav- 
enly home !  " 

"  Do  not  begrudge  to  heaven  what  it  does  not  claim," 
said  a  gentle  and  subdued  voice  in  her  ear.  She  raised 
her  head,  and  her  large,  sorrowful  eyes  fell  upon  Veary 
Elmore's  splendid  form.  She  sprang  to  her  feet,  but  be- 
fore she  could  speak  he  had  her  enfolded  in  his  arms.  She 
tried  to  release  herself,  but  he  held  her  with  an  iron  grasp, 
as  he  exclaimed,  "Thank  God;  found  at  last,  found  at 
last!  My  lost  Birdie  has  at  last  fluttered  down  upon  my 
bosom.  " 

Poor  Birdie  was  frightened.  She  thought  Veary  El- 
more  had  gone  mad,  and  expected  every  moment  to  be 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  269 

crushed  to  pieces.  She  disengaged  herself,  however,  amid 
many  blushes,  and  the  pallor  of  her  cheeks  showed  her 
repressed  agitation. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Elmore?"  said  she,  indig- 
nantly ;  "  how  dare  you  take  me  in  your  arms,  just  as  if  I 
were  a  little  child?"  And  she  turned  to  fly  from  him. 
He  had  quite  regained  his  self-control  by  this  time,  and, 
having  conquered  his  emotion,  spoke  dispassionately  : 
"Darling,  don't  leave  me;  speak  to  me;  forgive  me;  I 
should  have  told  you  in  a  different  manner  from  what  I 
did,  but  I  could  not  help  it ;  I  was  so  happy.  When  you 
know  all,  you  will  not  be  angry  with  me." 

"  What  have  you  to  tell  me  ?  "  said  she,  gently,  for  she 
saw  how  deeply  he  was  hurt,  and  her  blue  eyes  looked  up 
mournfully  into  his — so  mild,  so  sweet,  so  impressive,  and 
once  so  proud  and  tender — with  such  deep  sadness  in  their 
rich  depths. 

"  Sit  down,  and  I  will  tell  you,"  said  he  ;  "  it  is  a  long 
story,  and  will  take  me  some  time  to  get  to  the  sequel." 

As  one  who,  seeing  her  destiny  wrapping  itself  about 
her,  fold  by  fold,  sits  down  stunned  and  powerless,  so 
Birdie  sat  just  where  he  bade  her  sit. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment ;  he  did  not  know  how, 
nor  where,  to  begin,  fearing  that  she  would  doubt  his 
being  her  long-lost  brother.  He  wanted  to  convince  her, 
however,  in  the  beginning. 

"  Do  you  know  this  miniature?  "  he  asked,  holding  up 


27O  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

before  her  bewildered  gaze  a  miniature  which  he  had  taken 
from  his  breast-pocket. 

"Yes,"  Birdie  replied,  a  flood  of  crimson  spreading 
over  her  face,  and  then  fading  away,  leaving  it  an  ashy 
whiteness  ;  "  it  is  Veary  Carlisle,  my  little  adopted  broth- 
er, who  was  drowned  in  the  Ohio  river,  when  he  was  a 
little  boy,  trying  to  save  some  little  children  from  drown- 
ing," and  she  pressed  the  miniature  to  her  lips  and  kissed 
it  again.  "It  is  so  strange,"  she  continued;  "I  was 
thinking  of  him  this  evening.  Did  you  know  him,  Mr. 
Elmore  ?  have  you  ever  seen  him  ?  where  did  you  get 
this  picture  ?  O,  it  is  so  much  like  him ;  dear,  dear  Veary, 
how  I  long  for  your  love  and  protection  !  It  seems  that 
I  can  see  him  now,  just  as  he  looked  on  that  cold,  bitter 
morning,  when  he  took  me  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  me 
good-bye.  It  was  the  last  time  I  ever  saw  him,  but  his 
face  has  been  with  me  all  these  years,  and,  though  it  pre- 
ceded me  to  the  spirit  land,  I  shall  surely  know  it  from  all 
the  shining  throng." 

"  Have  you  believed  all  these  years  that  your  brother 
Veary  was  dead  ?  "  asked  Veary  Elmore,  with  a  tremor  in 
his  voice,  while  his  lips  trembled  like  an  aspen-leaf. 

' '  Yes, "  said  Birdie  ;  ' '  why  do  you  ask  that  question  ?  " 

' '  Because  your  brother  is  not  dead  ;  he  still  lives,  and 
loves  you  with  all  a  brother's  love." 

"  You  say  he  still  lives !  do  you  know  where  he  is,  Mr. 
Elmore?  tell  me,  quick,  or  I  shall  go  mad." 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  2/1 

"  He  is  sitting  by  your  side,  my  dear  girl.  I  am  Veary 
Carlisle,  your  long-lost  brother." 

"O,  Veary!  my  brother!  not  dead,  but  living, "  and 
the  next  moment  she  lay  prostrate  in  her  brother's  arms. 
She  was  trembling  like  a  frightened  child ;  her  white  lips 
sprung  apart,  the  blue  eyes  had  a  strange,  wild  look  as 
she  raised  her  face,  so  white  and  beautiful,  to  his,  and 
laughed  a  strange,  unnatural  laugh,  and  said  :  "  I  thought 
you  had  gone  mad,  but  it  is  I.  Can  it  be  possible  that  I 
have  brooded  over  my  sorrows  until  they  have  driven  me 
mad?  There  are  strange  turns  in  life,  I  know — fortune 
plays  us  hard  tricks — fate  has  unexpected  things  in  store, 
but  this  can  not  be,  that  you,  Veary  Elmore,  are  that 
brother  I  worshiped  so  fondly,"  and  she  sprang  out  of  his 
arms,  and  stood  gazing  for  a  moment  in  his  lace. 

"  O,  Birdie,  darling,  it  is  true;  it  is  neither  a  dream 
nor  a  fancy,  but  truth.  I  am  that  Veary  who  climbed  the 
rugged  mountain  to  save  you  from  the  eagle's  bloody 
claws.  It  was  in  my  arms  my  dying  mother  laid  you, 
and,  with  the  tears  streaming  down  her  sunken  cheeks, 
said:  'To  your  tender  care  I  intrust  my  adopted  child, 
and  your  adopted  sister.  Take  her,  and  promise  that  you 
will  love  her  and  protect  her  so  long  as  you  both  live. 
She  will  help  to  strengthen  your  energies,  and  you  will 
have  something  to  live  for  and  \vork  for.  And  God  grant 
that  she  may  prove  a  blessing  to  you,  and  that  your  future 
lives  may  be  full  of  sunshine  and  happiness." 


272  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

Birdie  did  not  dispute  it  now.  Though  young  at  the 
time,  she  remembered  that  dying  mother's  face,  and  her 
words  have  often  repeated  themselves  again  and  again 
when  Veary's  image  would  rise  up  before  her. 

She  was  now  convinced,  and,  with  a  wild  cry  of  joy, 
she  stretched  out  her  arms,  and  exclaimed  :  "  It  is  Veary  1 
it  is  Veary!  O,  my  brother,  my  friend  and  preserver! 
why  have  you  stayed  away  from  me  all  these  years  ?  I 
who  needed  you  so  much." 

And  the  poor  girl  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and 
wept  tears  of  joy,  such  as  she  never  shed  before. 

41  Lay  your  head  upon  my  breast,  little  darling,"  said 
he,  "for  it  is  your  rightful  place;"  and,  with  a  brother's 
tender  emotion,  he  drew  her  curly  head  upon  his  bosom, 
where  it  had  so  often  rested  in  years  gone  by,  as  her 
baby  arms  clung  lovingly  around  his  neck. 

"Dear  Veary,"  she  murmured,  winding  her  arms  more 
closely  around  his  neck.  "  I  feel  that  I  don't  deserve  all 
this  happiness,  but  God  is  good,  and  He  has  sent  you  to 
me  just  at  the  time  I  most  need  you ;  "  and,  looking  up 
with  the  sweet  content  of  a  little  child,  she  continued : 
"And  you  will  be  my  brother  still,  and  will  let  me  call 
you  brother?  " 

"My  darling,"  he  exclaimed,  passionately,  and, 
pressing  her  more  closely  to  his  heart,  and  gazing  down 
in  her  puf e  sweet  face,  ' '  as  long  as  there  is  one  spark 
of  true  manhood  in  my  heart,  or  as  long  as  life's  crimson 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  273 

current  throbs  through  my  veins,  I  will  shield  and  protect 
you  ;  will  watch  over  you  with  more  than  a  brother's  ten- 
der care — nothing  shall  separate  us  again,  nothing  but 
death  or  your  own  free  will — and,  if  need  be,  go  forth  and 
fight  for  you  as  did  the  knights  of  old  for  those  they  loved, 
until  just  and  mighty  Death,  whom  none  can  advise  or 
stay,  enfolds  me  in  his  icy  arms.  I  claim  that  right.  And 
that  angel  mother  in  heaven,  could  she  speak,  would  tes- 
tify to  what  I  now  say,  and  who  this  moment  must  surely 
be  looking  down  with  tender  solicitude  upon  two  hearts 
that  have  lived  and  met  to  bless  her  dear  memory." 

He  leaned  his  head  a  little,  and  looked  into  her  eyes — 
the  beautiful  star-like  eyes  that  smiled  back  so  calmly  into 
his  own,  so  mild  and  yet  so  full  of  fire — eyes  that  had 
power  to  charm  him  as  no  other  had  ever  been  able  to  do. 

He  stooped  down  and  pressed  his  lips  to  her  own. 
For  one  brief  moment  he  held  her  in  his  arms.  This  em- 
brace was  but  the  sealing  of  a  fresh,  new  love  between 
them — a  linking  more  firmly  of  the  old,  sweet  tie  that  love 
endured  so  long. 

"  It  will  seem  so  funny  to  call  you  brother,"  said  she, 
smiling  up  into  his  face  ;  "  so  strange  to  me  at  first,  but  I 
shall  be  so  happy  to  hear  you  call  me  sister;  call  me  it 
now,  so  I  can  hear  how  it  sounds." 

"My  darling,"  said  he,  and  his  voice  trembled,  "can 
you  not  give  me  a  warmer  place  in  your  heart  than  that  of 
a  sister?  I  can  not  be  satisfied,  I  can  not  be  contented, 
18 


274  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

with  a  sister's  love.  The  pure,  trusting  love  of  a  wife  is 
the  only  love  that  will  reconcile  me.  I  love  you,  Birdie, 
and  from  the  first  moment  I  met  you,  I  have  lived  with 
your  image  in  my  heart.  Every  beat  of  my  pulse,  every 
thought  of  my  mind,  is  for  you.  I  have  learned  to  love 
you  with  all  the  strength  of  my  sou},  and  for  your  dear 
sake  I  would  lay  down  my  life." 

"  But  you  are  my  brother,  Veary." 

''In  name  only,  my  darling, "  said  he,  "for  you  have 
not  one  drop  of  my  blood  in  your  veins.  Remember,  you 
are  my  sister  by  adoption  only." 

' '  Well,  who  am  I,  Veary  ?  and  what  am  I  ?  For  all 
these  years  I  have  been  a  mystery  to  myself.  I  want  to 
know  so  much  who  my  parents  were.  If  they  are  living, 
perhaps,  I  may  find  them,  and,  if  they  are  dead,  I  will 
want  to  know  them  in  heaven,  and  I  won't  know  whom  to 
ask  for,"  she  said,  smiling. 

"  My  darling,"  said  he,  "  I  am  afraid  that  is  a  mystery 
that  will  never  be  solved.  But  it  matters  not  with  me 
who  you  are,  nor  what  you  are;  it  is  enough  for  me  to 
love  you,  and  to  know  that  I  am  loved  in  return.  There 
is  one  thing  I  am  confident  of,  you  have  pure  and  noble 
blood  running  through  your  veins,  for  blood  will  show, 
always.  But,  darling,  we  will  discuss  that  some  other 
time,  to-morrow,  perhaps.  Now  tell  me  if  you  will  be  my 
wife.  Do  not  keep  me  in  suspense,  for  every  moment  is 
an  hour  of  cruel  torture  to  me." 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  2/5 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  and  then  with  perfect 
trust  and  confidence  she  slipped  her  little  white  hand  into 
his,  and  said: 

"  Dear,  dear  Veary!  so  noble!  so  brave  !  and  so  true  ! 
I  am  yours ;  take  me  and  I  will  try  to  be  worthy  of  your 
love.  You  have  a  better  right  to  me  than  any  one  living, 
and  I  shall  endeavor  to  spend  the  remainder  of  my  poor 
life  in  the  promotion  of  your  happiness.  I  give  you  my 
hand — my  heart  you  have  already — for  you  are  my  first 
and  only  love." 

With  tender  emotion  he  drew  her  to  him,  and  there  in 
nature's  gallery  of  art — there  in  that  sweet,  green,  silent 
kingdom,  where  the  voice  of  God  is  heard  in  the  ripple  of 
the  water,  the  rustle  of  the  leaves,  the  song  of  the  birds, 
the  music  of  the  wind — he  pressed  the  seal  of  their  en- 
gagement upon  her  lips,  with  a  kiss  as  pure  and  holy  as 
heaven  itself. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

FOUND  AT  LAST  IN  THE  CITY  OF  THE  DEAD  ;  OR  THE  BABY 
IN  THE  EAGLE'S  NEST. 

The  baby  morn  has  thrown  aside  its  dew-spangled  robe 
and  has  grown  to  perfect  strength,  and  is  making  rapid 
strides  toward  rest  and  evening.  A  tender  stillness  reigns 
over  everything ;  bright  flashes  from  Titian's  fiery  crown 
come  and  go  ere  one  catch  them — dart  through  the  open 
windows  of  the  carriage,  and  tremble  with  delight  upon 
the  betrothal  ring  which  glitters  upon  Birdie's  finger,  and 
falls  in  shining  showers  around  the  happy  couple  whose 
hearts  are  already  overflowing  with  its  bright  effulgence. 
The  beautiful  bays,  which  carry  with  so  much  pride  this 
happy  couple,  are  full  of  life  and  spirit,  and  the  sound  of 
their  well  shod  hoofs  echoes  through  the  cliffs  and  o'er  the 
dales,  as  they  play  upon  the  smooth,  hard  turnpike  which 
leads  to  the  cemetery*  at  Cave  Hill,  where  they  are  bear- 
ing their  young  mistress,  for  the  purpose  of  bestowing  her 
floral  offerings  upon  the  grave  of  her  beloved  father. 

They  were  late,  too,  for  time  with  its  rapid  wheel  does 
not  pause  in  its  flight  to  listen  to  the  vows  of  two  loving 
hearts,  though  in  their  happiness  they  had  forgotten  the 
whirl  of  this  great  revolving  wheel  until  the  clock  in  the 

(276) 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A    NAME.  277 

steeple  rang  out  twelve  long  strokes,  which  reminded 
Birdie  of  her  duty  to  the  dead. 

"  My  carriage  is  already  waiting,"  said  she,  "  and  if  we 
hurry  we  shall  get  there  in  time." 

Long  before  they  reached  the  cemetery  the  long  lines 
of  carriages  could  fee  seen,  and  the  perfume  of  the  dying 
flowers  was  wafted  to  them  as  they  passed  through  the 
gate  and  moved  slowly  up  the  gravel  walks  that  wound  de- 
viously through  the  beautiful  city  of  the  dead.  Present- 
ly the  carriage  stopped  near  Dr.  Sinclare's  lot,  and  Veary 
assisted  Birdie  from  the  carriage  and  opened  the  little  iron 
gate  which  inclosed  the  lot,  and  Birdie  was  about  to  enter, 
when  her  eyes  fell  upon  a  beautiful  wreath  of  flowers  lying 
upon  her  father's  grave.  She  paused  for  a  moment,  and 
looked  up  into  Veary's  face,  then  she  entered  and  sank 
upon  her  knees  by  the  grave  and  burst  into  tears. 

"They  thought  I  had  forgotten  him."  she  said,  trying 
to  stifle  her  emotion  ;  "I  am  sorry  I  was  so  late.  It  was 
some  true  friend  I  know,  who  has  laid  his  offering  upon 
his  dear  resting-place!  I  wonder  who  it  was!"  and  she 
stooped  down  and  pressed  the  flowers  to  her  lips.  "  Look 
Veary,  how  beautiful,"  she  continued,  kissing  them  again 
and  again,  "and  they  are  so  much  prettier  than  mine." 

Birdie  had  no  idea  that  Veary's  hands  were  the  ones 
that  had  placed  the  flowers  there,  for  he  had  been  with 
her  all  the  morning,  and  she  looked  astonished  when  the 
truth  was  revealed  to  her. 


278  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

After  they  had  finished  their  sacred  duty  to  the  dead, 
they  took  their  seats  upon  the  grass  beneath  a  spreading 
tree,  and  Veary  explained  to  Birdie  why  it  was  that  he 
had  placed  his  floral  offering  there  so  early  that  morning. 

"I  knew  you  would  be  here,"  he  began,  "and  I  did 
not  want  to  meet  you ;  and  besides  I  expected  to  leave  on 
the  eleven  o'clock  train  for  Europe,  and  I  had  no  idea  of 
ever  seeing  you  again  in  this  life,  my  little  darling;  for  I 
thought  you  were  going  to  marry  that  Scullcutter,  and  1 
had  much  rather  have  seen  you  laid  away  in  all  your 
maiden  purity  than  to  have  seen  you  the  wife  of  that  man. 
I  thought  once  that  I  would  go  to  you  and  give  you  his 
history,  then  I  persuaded  myself  to  believe  that  we  were 
all  in  the  hands  of  fate ;  that  she  bore  us  around  upon  her 
gilded  wings,  and  whenever  we  reached  our  destination 
she  would  drop  us,  whether  on  dry  land  or  in  a  duck  pond." 

"  Who  told  you  that  I  was  going  to  marry  him?  "  said 
Birdie,  thinking  all  the  while  of  what  the  servant  had  told 
her  that  morning. 

."Whyhe  told  me  himself,"  replied  Veary,  "besides 
he  gave  me  to  understand  that  Dr.  Sinclare  had  given  his 
full  consent  to  your  marriage,  and  that  is  why  I  never 
asked  you  to  be  my  wife  ;  but  after  I  found  out  that  you 
were  my  own  little  Birdie,  I  felt  that  I  had  a  right  to  pro- 
tect you,  and  if  possible  break  up  that  miserable  match, 
for  he  was  not  worthy  of  you ;  but  I  found  my  darling  as 
free  as  a  wild  bird  in  the  forest." 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD   WITHOUT   A    NAME.  279 

"  But,  Veary,  you  never  did  tell  me  how  you  came  to 
find  me  out,"  exclaimed  Birdie,  '' it  seems  such  a  mystery 
to  me,  and  that  photograph ;  where  did  you  get  it?  for  it 
was  the  very  same  that  I  had  in  my  locket." 

"Well,  tell  me  first,"  said  he,  "  how  you  came  by  the 
locket,  for  it  has  been  in  my  possession  ever  since  the  day 
I  heard  that  you  were  dead.  I  had  given  it  to  the  jewelry 
man  to  fix,  and  that  same  morning  I  stopped  in  and  got  it 
to  take  to  you,  and  I  have  worn  it  near  my  heart  ever 
since  because  it  was  yours,  and  I  have  so  often  wished  it 
was  your  own  photograph  instead  of  mine ;  that  I  could 
have  looked  in  your  dear  eyes  instead  of  gazing  at  my 
own  horrid  shadow.  But  now  1  feel  thankful  that  it  was 
my  photograph  instead  of  yours, .for  it  has  been  instru- 
mental in  finding  you  ;  perhaps,  had  it  been  your  own, 
you  would  not  have  thought  of  having  it  painted.  And  I 
feel  very  grateful  to  that  good  father  of  mine,  Judge 
Elmore,  to  whom  I  am  in.  debt  for  my  appellation,  for 
thinking  enough  of  me  to  send  me  around  to  Rue's  gallery 
to  have  my  photograph  taken  before  leaving  for  Europe." 

' '  Ah,  yes  !  "  exclaimed  Birdie,  "  I  know  now,  the  mys- 
tery is  unraveled;  you  recognized  the  painting  at  Rue's." 

"The  mystery  may  be  unraveled  for  you,"  exclaimed 
Veary,  laughing,  "  but  not  for  me,  for  you  have  not  told 
me  how  you  came  by  that  locket  yet." 

"Well,  I  can  very  easily  do  that,"  she  said.  "You 
lost  it  and  I  found  it." 


28O  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

"  Where  did  you  find  it,  Birdie,  darling?  I  knew  that 
I  had  lost  it  somewhere." 

"I  found  it  in  a  hen's  nest,"  exclaimed  Birdie,  laugh- 
ing, ' '  and  it  seems  very  suspicious,  Veary,  dear  ;  I  had  no 
idea  that  you  were  robbing  my  hen's  nest  all  the  while, 
though  I  knew  you  were  fond  of  eggs." 

"  Well,  well,  that  is  a  good  joke,'  said  he,  smiling  and 
pinching  her  cheeks.  ' '  I  remember  that  old  hen's  nest 
now,"  he  continued,  "I  was  passing  there  one  morning 
and  heard  a  noise  in  the  bushes  and  stooped  down  to  see 
what  it  was,  and  1  suppose  that  I  dropped  it  then." 

"  Well,  do  tell  me  something  about  the  painting,"  ex- 
claimed Birdie,  "it  all  seems  so  romantic,  it  is  as  good  as 
a  novel  ;  and,  by  the  way,  it  will  just  give  a  nice  finishing 
touch  to  my  new  novel  which  I  finished  last  night." 

"Better  wait  until  we  get  married  before  you  com- 
plete it,"  said  Veary,  smiling  down  into  her  face. 

"  O,  I  will  leave  that  much  for  the  reader  to  imagine." 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I  will  tell  you  about  the  painting. 
In  the  first  place  it  is  perfect ;  the  painting  is  exquisite.  I 
would  have  known  it  amid  ten  thousand  faces.  At  first  I 
could  not  believe  my  own  eyes,  or  at  least  I  tried  not  to 
believe  them,  and  tried  to  persuade  myself  to  believe  that 
it  was  only  a  delusion,  when  the  photographer  came  up 
and  said,  '  You  seem  to  admire  that  painting,  Mr.  Elmore, 
and  well  you  may,  for  it  belongs  to  the  prettiest  girl  in  the 
county.' 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  28 1 

"'Who  does  it  belong  to?'  said  I,  and  in  my  heart  I 
blessed  him  for  those  words,  for  I  knew  there  would  be  an 
opportunity  for  me  to  find  out  who  the  owner  was. 

"  'It  belongs  to  Miss  Birdie  Sinclare,'  he  replied,  turn- 
ing it  so  the  light  could  fall  upon  it;  'it  is  her  adopted 
brother  who  was  drowned  in  the  Ohio  when  quite  a  boy.' 

"'Did  she  tell  you  his  name?'  I  asked;  'I  think  I 
know  the  boy. ' 

"  '  His  name  is  on  the  back,'  said  he,  turning  it  over; 
and,  with  an  eagerness  I  had  never  experienced  before,  I 
read  my  own  name — Veary  Carlisle.  This  was  enough  ; 
I  knew  then  that  the  beautiful  and  gifted  Miss  Sinclare, 
whom  I  had  worshiped,  and  whom  I  was  then  running  away 
from,  never  to  see  again,  was  my  own  little  Birdie;  that 
the  grave  had  given  up  its  dead — for  all  the  while  I  thought 
that  you  were  dead — that  you  had  been  consumed  by  the 
flames." 

"The  flames!  "  exclaimed  Birdie,  "what  flames?" 

"Why,  darling,  is  it  possible  that  you  never  knew 
what  a  narrow  escape  you  had  with  your  life  ?  Were  you 
not  there  when  the  cottage  was  burned  ?  " 

"Why,  no!"  exclaimed  Birdie,  excitedly,  "I  ran 
away  from  that  old  woman  one  night,  and  went  to  the 
river  to  try  and  find  you  ;  for  she  told  me,  that  same  day, 
that  you  were  drowned  in  the  Ohio,  and  that  she  was 
going  to  take  me  to  New  Orleans,  and  buy  an  organ,  and 
make  me  play  on  the  streets  for  money ;  and  she  had  every- 


282  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

thing  packed  up,  and  was  going  to  take  me  away  the  next 
morning,  and  that  is  why  I  ran  away." 

"Well,  well!"  said  Veary,  shuddering,  "you  had  a 
narrow  escape,  my  darling ;  for  on  that  same  night  the  cot- 
tage was  burned,  and  she  was  consumed  in  the  flames,  and 
the  neighbors  told  me  that  you  were  burned  up  in  the 
house,  and — " 

"Were  you  very  sorry,  Veary?"  said  Birdie,  stopping 
him  in  the  middle  of  his  sentence. 

"Sorry!"  he  exclaimed,  half  vexed  at  her  question. 
"  It  came  very  near  being  the  death  of  me ;  and  if  it  had 
not  been  for  that  man  yonder,  I  now  would  have  been  in 
my  grave.  And,  by  the  way,  if  things  had  not  turned 
out  as  they  did,  you  now  would  have  been  his  adopted 
daughter." 

"Who  is  that,  Veary?"  said  she,  "his  face  is  so 
familiar  to  me  ;  I  have  seen  it  either  asleep  or  awake  !  " 

"It  ought  to  be  familiar  to  you,"  he  said,  teasingly, 
"  when  you  used  to  go  in  his  office  so  much  to  beg,  when 
that  old  hag  sent  you  out  on  that  mission." 

"Is  it  possible?"  said  Birdie,  turning  white  in  the  face, 
for  every  event  in  her  past  life  seemed  to  come  up  before 
her.  "What  is  his  name,  Veary?  for  I  have  forgotten 
it;  I  know  I  used  to  call  him  Mr.  Doctor." 

"  Dr.  St.  George,"  said  Veary,  "and  he  is  one  of  the 
best  men  that  ever  lived,  except  my  own  father,  Judge 
Elmore." 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  283 

"Yes,"  said  Birdie,  "he  is  a  dear,  good  man,  and  I 
feel  just  like  going  up  and  giving  him  a  good  hug." 

"You  shall  have  that  pleasure,"  said  Veary,  laughing; 
"for  he  is  coming  now,  and  I  am  going  to  introduce  you 
to  him." 

"Not  as  the  little  beggar  girl,  Veary,"  cried  Birdie, 
' '  surely  you  will  not  tell  hirn  about  that,  Veary.  Why, 
he  would  not  even  respect  me,  and — " 

But  before  she  could  finish  her  sentence  Dr.  St.  George 

o 

was  shaking  hands  with  Veary. 

"The  judge  and  I  have  been  in  search  of  you  all  the 
morning,"  said^  the  doctor,  "and  as  we  were  unsuccessful 
in  our  labors,  we  came  to  the  conclusion  that  you  had 
been  abducted.  And  I  see,"  he  added,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye,  "that  our  surmises  were  right." 

"Yes,"  replied  Veary,  laughing,  "and  by  a  bird  of 
the  fairest  plumage.  Was  father  very  uneasy  ?"  he  added. 

"Yes,"  said  the  doctor,  "he  was  very  uneasy,  as  he 
expected  you  back  to  take  your  leave  for  Europe  on  the 
eleven  o'clock  train.  And,  by  the  way,  I  am  glad  that 
you  have  postponed  your  trip,  for  I  have  some  very  impor- 
tant business  with  you,  Veary — something,  too,  that  will 
surprise  you  very  much.  I  can't  tell  you  now,  but  come 
to  my  office  as  soon  as  you  have  an  opportunity." 

"And  I  have  a  surprise  for  you,  too,  doctor,"  said 
Veary,  turning  to  Birdie,  who  was  blushing  from  the  edge 
of  her  hair  to  the  tip  of  her  chin.  "  Let  me  present  you 


284  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

to  Miss  Birdie  Sinclare,  who  is  soon  to  be  Mrs.  Veary  El- 
more!"  exclaimed  Veary,  bowing  low,  and  laughing  at 
poor  Birdie's  discomfiture,  as  the  blushes  chased  each  other 
down  her  cheeks  and  behind  her  ears.  But  she  soon  recov- 
ered herself,  and  grasped  Dr.  St.  George's  hand  firmly,  as 
he  exclaimed,  "  I  am  glad  to  have  the  honor  of  your  ac- 
quaintance, Miss  Sinclare !  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  you  once,  though  it  was  under  very  painful  cir- 
cumstances. I  think  you  are  the  young  lady  who  came 
so  near  being  drowned  some  time  ago,"  he  added. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Birdie;  "are  you  the  physician  who 
was  on  board  the  steamer  that  night  ?  " 

"  It  was  I  who  had  the  honor  and  pleasure  of  restoring 
you  to  life,  Miss  Sinclare,"  Dr.  St.  George  replied,  and 
turning  to  Veary,  he  said,  mischievously,  "She  came  very 
near  being  the  bride  of  Death,  and  your  rival  would  have 
been  a  stern  old  monster.  It  is  natural  that  she  should 
feel  very  dear  to  you  after  having  such  a  struggle  with 
such  a  deadly  foe,  to  win  her.  You  will  allow  me  to  con- 
gratulate you,  Miss  Sinclare,"  he  added,  turning  to  Birdie. 
"•  I  believe  every  girl  has  a  hero  in  her  imagination,  but  it 
is  very  few  who  have  a  real,  genuine  hero,  such  as  you 
ha,ve — one  that  will  scale  the  heavens  or  divide  the  waters 
of  the  mighty  deep  for  her  sake." 

"  I  think  that  he  has  doubly  paid  for  me!  "  Birdie  ex- 
claimed. "That  was  not  the  first  time  that  he  saved  my 
life!"  Then  she  blushed;  for  she  thought  of  the  little 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  285 

beggar  girl,  who  had  sat  upon  his  knee  and  called  him  Mr. 
Doctor,  and  had  received  alms  more  than  once  from  his 
hands.  She  did  not  want  him  to  know  that  she — Birdie 
Sinclare — had  ever  received  alms  at  his  hands  ;  that  she 
had  ever  been  a  little  street  beggar,  and  now  she  knew 
that  the  way  was  open  for  Veary  to  let  the  cat  out  of  the 
wallet,  and  he  would  do  it,  too,  in  spite  of  all  her  entrea- 
ties ;  the  secret  which  she  had  kept  so  long  would  now  be 
divulged. 

"Is  it  possible?"  said  the  doctor,  with  a  look  of  sur- 
prise, and  eyeing  her  from  head  to  foot ;  perhaps  he  was 
thinking  of  his  own  little  one ;  we  can't  tell ;  he  might 
have  been  thinking  of  his  dead  wife,  for  her  image  was 
stamped  upon  the  face  of  the  fair  young  girl  before  him. 

Turning  to  Veary,  he  added,  with  a  smile,  "Mr.  El- 
more,  you  certainly  need  promotion.  Why  have  you  kept 
your  gallantry  and  bravery  such  a  profound  secret?  Most 
of  the  young  men  would  have  taken  great  pleasure  in  re- 
lating it  to  newspaper  reporters." 

"I  had  two  reasons,"  said  Veary;  "first,  I  did  not 
think  that  any  one  would  believe  me,  and,  second,  I  was 
afraid  some  one  would  believe  me  and  claim  her ;  and  I 
was  selfish  enough  to  want  to  keep  her,  after  risking  my 
own  life  to  save  her.  I  was  but  a  small  boy  then,  and  did 
not  know  how  to  make  a  sacrifice  of  my  feelings.  But 
before  I  relate  my  little  narrative,  which  is  founded  on  facts, 
let  me  take  a  leap  a  few  years  back,  and  I  will  give  you 


286  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

that  little  surprise  I  promised  you  awhile  ago,"  and  he 
looked  at  Birdie,  who  was  blushing  and  shaking  her  head, 
for  she  knew  what  was  coming.  "  Do  you  remember  the 
little  girl  who  used  to  come  to  your  office  to  beg,  and  took 
so  much  pleasure  in  calling  you  Mr.  Doctor?" 

"Yes."  said  the  doctor,  and  a  shadow  seemed  to  fall 
across  his  face,  for  he  thought  very  strange  of  Veary 
speaking  so  lightly  of  his  little  dead  sister,  when  even  the 
memory  of  her  would  bring  tears  to  his  eyes.  "Poor 
child,  she  met  a  terrible  fate,  and  I  never  have  gotten  over 
the  blow  it  gave  me  when  I  heard  of  her  cruel  death.  She 
was  a  dear,  sweet,  little  girl;  Miss  Sinclare,  did  he  ever 
tell  you  about  his  little  sister?" 

"  Miss  Sinclaire  is  the  dear,  sweet,  little  girl  herself," 
exclaimed  Veary,  laughing,  "that  is  the  surprise  I  have 
for  you.  She  stole  a  march  on  the  old  lady,  and  left  before 
the  cottage  caught  on  fire.  Does  she  look  like  that  little 
beggar  girl  in  days  of  yore?" 

"Is  it  possible  !  "  exclaimed  Dr.  St.  George,  going  up 
and  grasping  her  hand.  "Can  it  be  possible  that  you, 
Miss  Sinclare,  are  the  little  girl  who  used  to  come  to  my 
office  so  long  ago,  and  who  came  near  being  my  adopted 
daughter?  That  you  escaped  the  fangs  of  those  horrid 
flames,  and  all  these  years  have  lived  right  under  our  nose 
and  we  were  none  the  wiser?  I  agree  with  that  illustrious 
author  when  he  said  that  'truth  was  stranger  than  fiction.' 
But  how  in  the  world  came  you  to  find  her  out?"  he  ex- 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  287 

claimed,  turning  to  Veary.  "It  all  seems  like  a  dream 
to  me,  and  I  expect  that  I  shall  wake  up  directly  and  find 
that  I  have  been  indulging  in  a  ramble  in  dreamland's  fairy- 
land." 

Veary  gave  him  a  minute  description  of  all  Birdie's  ad- 
ventures since  the  night  she  escaped  from  the  cottage. 

He  listened  attentively.  Now  and  then  his  thoughts 
would  wander  back  to  his  own  little  blue-eyed  baby,  and  he 
prayed  that  fate  had  been  as  kind  to  her  as  it  had  been  to 
Birdie  ;  that  she  had  been  rescued  from  the  eagle's  claws,  as 
Birdie  had  been  snatched  from  the  burning  flames.  And 
that  kind  Providence  might  yet  place  her  in  his  arms. 

"  God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way, 
His  wonders  to  perform." 

After  Veary  had  concluded,  the  doctor  turned  and  said 
to  Birdie,  ' '  Miss  Sinclare,  may  I  ask  what  your  name 
was,  before  you  were  adopted  by  Mrs.  Carlisle?  do  you 
remember  your  parents  ?  " 

"  I  never  knew  my  parents,"  she  replied;  "  my  whole 
life  has  been  a  mystery  and  I  would  be  willing  to  give  a 
fortune,  if  I  had  it,  to  know  who  I  am,  and  what  I  am; 
but  if  I  never  know  who  my  parents  were,  I  am  confident 
that  good  blood  courses  through  my  veins  ;  but  I  feel  that 
I  shall  know  some  day ;  that  this  blessed  boon  will  not  for- 
ever be  withheld  from  me." 

"That  is  very  strange,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I  suppose 


288  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

Mrs.  Carlisle  adopted  you  from  the  orphan  asylum,  and 
it  seems  strange,  too,  that  your  name  was  not  on  the 
records;  for  they  are  very  particular  about  such  things." 

"She  was  never  in  an  orphan  asylum,"  exclaimed 
Veary,  smiling  at  Dr.  St.  George's  puzzled  look,  "and  if 
you  will  permit  me  I  will  give  you  her  history  as  far  back 
as  I  am  familiar  with  it.  First,  I  will  give  you  a  short 
sketch  of  my  own  life. 

"  My  father  lived  in  the  mountains  of  Virginia,  and  not 
a  great  distance  from  the  Kentucky  line.  He  was  a  law- 
yer by  profession,  and  for  fifteen  years  practiced  law  in  the 
city  of  Richmond,  where  his  health  failed  him,  and  he  was 
compelled  to  seek  the  mountain  air  for  his  dilapidated  and 
broken  constitution.  I  was  quite  a  small  boy  when  he 
moved  to  West  Virginia,  but  I  shall  never  forget  my  first 
experience  among  the  hills.  I  felt  all  the  while  that  I  was 
smothering,  not  for  the  want  of  air,  but  for  the  want  of 
space ;  for  our  house  was  completely  surrounded  by  hills, 
and  many  a  time  I  have  thrown  rocks  down  the  chimney, 
and  before  I  had  been  there  two  days  I  could  tell  my 
mother  that  I  could  climb  to  the  very  peak  of  the  highest 
mountain.  My  father's  health  did  not  improve,  however, 
and  the  doctors  advised  him  to  travel ;  so  he  took  it  in  his 
head  to  go  to  Europe,  and  my  mother,  poor  woman,  was 
not  aware  of  his  intentions  until  a  few  hours  before  he 
left,  and  when  she  tried  to  persuade  him  not  to  go,  his  answer 
was  that  the  doctor  had  advised  him  to  go,  and  that  noth- 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  289 

ing  but  salt  water  would  save  his  life.  After  my  father 
left  I  became  lonely  and  restless,  and  would  often  say  to 
my  mother,  '  Mother,  I  am  so  lonely,  I  wish  that  I  had 
some  one  to  play  with  me,'  and  I  could  see  the  tears 
come  into  her  dear  eyes.  I  suppose  it  was  sympathy  for 
her  lonely  boy.  I  soon  found  that  it  gave  her  pain,  and  I 
kept  my  troubles  to  myself.  One  morning  I  went  out  to 
play,  and  hearing  a  noise  overhead,  I  looked  up,  and  right 
over  my  head  was  a  large  eagle,  which  was  flying  toward 
the  mountain.  It  had  something  in  its  claws;  a  pig,  I 
thought  at  first ;  presently  I  could  perceive  that  whatever 
it  was  it  had  on  clothes,  and  all  at  once  it  struck  me  that 
it  was  a  baby,  and  with  this  happy  thought  I  set  out  to 
capture  it  if  possible.  'A  baby,  a  baby,'  I  repeated  over 
and  over  again,  as  I  ran  along.  '  Would  it  not  be  a  treat, 
a  baby  in  the  house,  and  it  would  be  mine,  all  mine ; 
mother  could  play  with  it,  of  course,  and  make  its  clothes, 
but  she  could  not  claim  it.' 

"These  were  the  thoughts  that  ran  through  my  brain  as 
I  followed  the  eagle's  course.  Presently  it  took  a  turn 
up  the  mountain,  and  to  my  delight  I  saw  it  light  upon 
the  top  of  the  mountain  in  a  cluster  of  shrubby  trees.  I 
threw  off  my  coat  and  vest  as  quick  as  lightning  and  com- 
menced to  climb  the  steep,  rugged  side  of  the  mountain. 
It  was  hard  work,  I  tell  you,  but  the  thoughts  of  that  baby 
strengthened  me  and  I  soon  reached  the  top  where  the 
eagle  had  built  her  nest,  and  where  my  expectations  were 

19 


2pO  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

realized.  And  the  sight  which  presented  itself  to  my 
view  will  never  be  obliterated  from  my  mind, 

"  There  in  that  bloody  den,  surrounded  with  bones  and 
feathers,  lay  the  sweetest  little  baby  I  ever  saw  ;  and  when 
I  came  up  to  where  it  was  lying,  it  looked  up  in  my  face 
and  smiled  as  happily  as  if  it  had  been  lying  upon  a  bed  of 
down  in  a  fairy's  cradle.  With  a  delight  my  boy  heart 
had  never  experienced  before,  I  sprang  to  it  and  caught  it 
in  my  arms.  There  was  not  a  scratch  upon  it ;  at  first  the 
eagle  made  fight  at  me,  but  I  broke  its  wing  with  a  stick, 
and  it  screamed  and  flew  away.  So  I  took  my  baby  and 
tied  it  around  my  waist  with  my  suspenders,  and  descend- 
ed safely,  and — 

"  Did  the  baby  live  ?  "exclaimed  Dr.  St.  George,  excit- 
edly, who  had  been  listening  to  this  startling  revelation  in 
speechless  amazement  and  anxiety,  and  keeping  his  gaze 
fixed  first  upon  one  and  then  the  other,  with  the  fixedness 
and  intensity  of  a  living  statue.  His  face  wore  a  deathly 
whiteness,  and  his  lips  were  as  colorless  as  marble.  Both 
Veary  and  Birdie  did  not  fail  to  perceive  it,  but  did  not 
understand  the  cause.  He  did  not  wait,  however,  until 
Veary  was  through,  but  exclaimed,  "  Did  the  baby  live?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Veary,  "the  baby  lived,  and  is  no 
other  than  Miss  Birdie  Sinclare,  who  is  now  sitting  at 
your  side." 

This  was  enough.  Dr.  St.  George  knew  that  she  was 
his  child.  That  she  was  his  own  little  baby  whom  he  had 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    V/ITHOUT    A    NAME.  2QI 

mourned  as  dead,  and  who  he  had  believed  was  lying  in 
the  little  green  grave  by  the  side  of  his  wife. 

"  Thank  God  !  my  child  is  found  at  last,"  were  the  words 
that  were  echoed  over  the  cemetery  of  Cave  Hill. 

"You  are  my  child!  my  own  little  baby  which  was 
stolen  from  me  eighteen  years  ago,"  he  exclaimed.  "A 
man  jumped  from  the  train  with  you  in  his  arms  at  night, 
while  your  mother  was  on  her  way  to  the  springs,  and  I 
have  never  seen  you  frcm  that  evening.  I  kissed  you 
good  bye  in  your  mother's  arms,  and  it  was  the  last  time 
I  ever  saw  her  alive  ;  the  shock  was  so  severe  it  killed 
her,  and  she  lies  yonder  beneath  that  little  mound.  Per- 
haps you  think  I  am  talking  at  random,  but  I  am  not ; 
here  is  the  dying  confession  of  the  man  who  stole  you,  and 
only  this  morning  I  left  his  dying  bed.  Take  and  read 
for  yourself,  Veary,  and  then  you  will  be  convinced  of 
what  I  tell  you." 

Veary  took  the  paper  and  read  aloud,  while  Birdie,  pale 
and  trembling,  listened  to  every  word. 

Dr.  St.  George  was  motionless  zs  a  statue.  It  was 
impossible  to  tell  which  of  the  three  was  the  whitest,  but 
when  Fen  Scullcutter's  name  was  mentioned  Birdie  wculd 
have  fallen  had  her  father  not  caught  her  in  his  arms;  but 
the  two  men  were  firm  and  only  exchanged  looks,  and 
that  look  spoke  volumes. 

"Just  to  think,"  said  Veary,  turning  to  Birdie, "that 
he  wanted  to  marry  you." 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

But  she  only  shuddered,  and  a  sigh  escaped  her  lips. 
A  sigh,  alas !  for  depraved  and  poor,  fallen  humanity. 

After  Veary  had  finished  he  handed  the  paper  back  to 
Dr.  St.  George,  saying,  as  he  grasped  the  doctor's  hand, 
4 '  Let  me  congratulate  you,  my  dear  friend,  upon  the  re- 
covery of  your  daughter,"  and  turning  to  Birdie,  he  said, 
"Darling,  your  prayers  have  been  granted.  You  now 
know  who  you  are,  and  what  you  are,  as  you  expressed 
it;  Dr.  St.  George  is  your  father,  and  yonder  beneath  the 
roses  lies  your  mother ;  and  let  us  thank  God  for  giving 
you  such  parents.  You  spoke  the  truth  when  you  said 
that  good  blood  coursed  through  your  veins. " 

The  next  moment  Birdie  was  sobbing  in  her  father's 
arms.  "Papa,  papa,"  was  all  the  poor  girl  could  say, 
while  heavy  sobs  shook  her  frame. 

"  O,  my  darling;  my  long-lost  baby!  "  he  exclaimed, 
as  he  folded  his  arms  around  her  and  kissed  her  again  and 
again,  while  her  curly  head  nestled  upon  his  bosom  where 
a  shower  of  tear-drops  was  falling. 

"How  it  wrings  my  heart!"  he  murmured,  "when  I 
think  of  my  little  wandering  babe,  my  sunny-haired  darling, 
being  shut  out  alone  in  the  streets  ;  to  be  denied  the  love- 
light  of  a  happy  home;  to  be  denied  a  father's  tender  care, 
while  he  lived  in  the  lap  of  luxury,  surrounded  with  all 
the  blandishments  of  life.  To  think  that  your  dear 
little  hands  should  be  held  out  to  my  own  for  alms  ;  and 
I  could  not  take  you  to  my  heart.  But,  O  God  !  I  thank 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  293 

thee,  most  gracious  Father,  for  the  preservation  of  my 
child,  and  for  the  restoration  of  her  at  last  to  my  arms !  " 

All  the  while  Birdie  lay  sobbing  in  her  father's  arms, 
while  Veary  only  bowed  his  head  in  acquiescence. 

After  Dr.  St.  George  ceased  to  speak  there  was  silence 
for  some  moments,  and  to  these  three  persons  they  were 
moments  of  silent  bliss,  and  the  happiest  of  all  their  lives. 

Dr.  St.  George  raised  the  head  of  his  fair  child  from 
his  bosom,  and  turning  to  Veary  Elmore,  he  said:  "  Veary, 
my  brave  and  noble  boy,  to  your  tender  care  I  intrust  my 
child ;  into  your  keeping  I  place  her  happiness  for  you 
are  worthy  of  the  treasure  I  yield  to  you ;  you  have  a 
better  right  to  her  than  any  man  living ;  but,  Veary,  my 
son,  you  must  not  take  her  from  me;  you  will  live  with 
me  always,  since  our  past  has  been  so  wide  apart  our 
future  must  be  together.  I  can  not  bear  to  be  separated 
from  my  baby,  for  to  me  she  is  baby  still." 

"Your  every  wish  shall  be  gratified,"  said  Veary, 
grasping  his  hand  and  pressing  it  between  his  own,  and, 
laying  his  arm  around  Birdie,  he  said,  "Come,  darling, 
and  see  where  your  mother  lies,  for  I  know  she  is  smiling 
down  upon  her  baby,  which  once  was  lost,  but  now  is 
found,"  and  the  three  walked  away  to  where  her  mother 
was  sleeping  beneath  the  daisies  and  trailing  ivy.  And 
there,  in  the  presence  of  solemn  death,  by  the  side  of  her 
"angel  mother's  grave,"  the  "Beautiful  Bird  Without  a 
Name"  found  her  name  and  mate. 


294  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

There  was  rejoicing  in  heaven  on  that  sweet  May-day, 
for  surely  the  angels  would  rejoice  with  that  mother,  and 
the  bells  of  heaven  would  ring  in  honor  of  the  re-ilnion 
on  earth. 

No  wonder  the  moon  came  out  on  that  glorious  eve 
and  hung,  moored  like  a  crescent  skiff  of  silver,  over  the 
hallowed  spot;  no  wonder  the  stars  twinkled  and  blazed 
upon  their  silver  thrones  like  altar-candles  around  God's 
holy  sanctuary ;  no  wonder  the  birds  burst  forth  in  joyous 
strains  of  melody,  filling  earth  and  heaven  with  music  that 
seemed  not  of  earth ;  no  wonder  the  drooping  flowers 
raised  their  dying  heads  and  smiled,  and  sent  forth  their 
sweet  perfume,  wave  after  wave,  as  vespers  wept  for  joy 
and  filled  their  waxen  petals  with  tears  of  crystal  dew — 
for  a  soul  was  rejoicing  in  heaven,  and  three  hearts  were 
made  happy  on  earth. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

LINES  TO  LITTLE  IDA  PETERSON. 

Dear  little  Ida,  so  loving  and  true, 
With  violet  eyes,  bespangled  with  dew  ; 
No  constellation,  however  bright, 
Can  equal  those  dear  orbs  to-night. 

Thy  silken  hair  wears  a  sunset  bloom, 

And  like  threads  of  gold  from  a  fairy's  loom, 

Thy  Laby  arms  so  plump  and  round — 

Ah,  where  can  such  another  pair  be  found'? 

Thy  hand  hath  no  match  save  its  fellow, 

So  dimpled,  so  tiny,  and  fair; 
No  down  upon  the  neck  of  the  sparrow 

Is  so  soft  as  thy  rosy  fingers  are. 

Thy  gentle  voice  is  soft  and  low, 
Like  ,/Eolian  harps  when  the  south  winds  blow"; 
And  thy  dear  little  feet,  as  they  pat  along, 
Sound  sweeter  to  my  ear  than  nightingale's  song. 

Dear  little  Ida,  I  miss  you  to-night; 
I'm  alone  in  my  chamber,  and  trying  to  write; 
Not  a  sound  is  heard  save  my  own  deep  sighs, 
And  the  drops  that  fall  from  my  tearful  eyes. 

Last  night,  when  I  laid  me  down  to  rest, 
I  dreamed  your  head  was  on  my  breast; 

(295) 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

But,  alas !  I  awoke  with  a  sense  of  despair, 
To  find  my  darling  not  nestling  there. 

Oft  in  ray  waking  dreams  I,  too, 
Have  seen  those  eyes  of  heavenly  blue ; 
For  an  instant  they,flit  before  my  sight, 
Then  leave  my  heart  as  blank  as  night. 

But  now  I'll  lay  my  pen  aside, 

My  tearful  eyes  I'll  dry, 
For  surely  we  will  meet  again 

In  that  sweet  bye-and-bye. 

Ah !  we  shall  meet,  with  kisses  sweet, 

Little  Ida  dear  and  I, 
And  won't  that  be  a  happy  day 

In  that  sweet  bye-and-bye? 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

ESSAY  ON  THE  MEN  AND  WOMEN  OF  THE  PRESENT  DAY. 

Kind  and  gentle  reader,  we  thank  you  for  the  interest 
with  which  you  have  perused  our  narrative,  and  trust  that 
your  patience  has  not  been  exhausted,  as  my  inclination 
leads  me  to  attempt  the  task  of  presenting  to  you,  as  far  as 
I  am  capable,  a  picture  of  the  men  and  women  of  the  pres- 
ent day,  and  trust,  gentle  reader,  you  who  have  always 
been  so  kind  and  true  will  pardon  all  digressions  made 
from  the  special  subject  we  have  under  consideration. 

First,  we  will  view  woman,  the  noblest  gift  of  God  to 
man,  through  an  unprejudiced  telescope  which  will  carry 
us  back  through  the  vista  of  years  and  note  her  boundless 
influence  for  good  or  for  evil.  It  is  with  woman  as  it  is 
with  everything  else  of  God's  creatures.  They  are  pro- 
miscuous, morally  and  physically.  There  are  good  and  bad, 
good  and  better,  bad  and  worse.  They  are  not  all  terres- 
trial angels — neither  is  there  one  in  this  wide  world  that 
does  not  have  her  faults,  and  neither  was  there  ever  a  creat- 
ure in  existence  without  a  fault,  save  one — the  Saviour 
and  Preserver  of  our  immortal  souls.  And  I  will  add  that 
sometimes  the  best  of  men  and  women  are  molded  out  of 

(297) 


298  A    BEAUTIFUL   BIRD   WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

faults.  Perfection  among  mortals  is  a  thing  unknown,  and 
if  we  would  but  stop  and  think  over  our  own  faults,  when 
tempted  to  criticise  those  of  others,  we  would  often  check 
words  which  only  tend  to  irritate,  and  many  times  convert 
into  an  enemy  one  whose  friendship  we  prize  too  highly 
to  lose ;  and 

"  In  speaking  of  others'  faults 

Pray  don't  forget  your  own  ; 
Remember  those  with  homes  of  glass 
Should  seldom  throw  a  stone. 

"  If  we  have  nothing  else  to  do 
Than  talk  of  those  that  sin, 
'Tis  better  to  commence  at  home, 
And  from  that  point  begin. 

"  Then  let  us  all  when  we  begin 

To  slander  friend  or  foe, 
Think  of  the  harm  one  word  may  do 
To  those  we  little  know. 

"  Remember,  curses,  sometimes,  like 

Our  chickens,  roost  at  home  ; 
Don't  speak  of  others'  faults 

Until  you  have  none  of  your  own." 

It  is  sometimes  said  of  persons  that  they  can  not  tell 
what  they  know,  but  observation  teaches  that  there  are 
far  more  persons  who  can  and  do  tell  more  than  they  know, 
than  there  are  of  those  who  know  more  than  they  tell. 
Although  it  may  be  very  inconvenient  not  to  be  able  to 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  299 

tell  what  we  do  know,  it  is  far  more  dangerous  to  tell  more 
than  we  know.  If  every  person  would  adopt  the  motto, 
"I  will  tell  nothing  except  what  I  know,  or  have  good 
evidence  to  believe,"  every  community  would  doubtless 
be  relieved  of  a  great  deal  of  gossip,  and  many  a  slander- 
ous report  would  die  unborn  ;  in  fact,  the  slanderer's  occu- 
pation would  be  gone.  But,  alas !  how  often  a  careless 
word,  a  knowing  look,  a  significant  nod,  or  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders,  or  even  a  sly  wink  or  sneering  gesture,  throws 
a  cloud  of  gloom  and  sorrow  over  some  innocent  soul,  or 
casts  a  dark  suspicion  upon  an  innocent  character,  that  re- 
quires months,  years,  and  even  a  lifetime  to  dispel.  And 
these  results  are  not  always  the  work  of  street  gossip  or 
common  tattlers,  but  oftentimes,  persons  who  occupy  re- 
spectable positions  in  life  and  are  influential  in  society 
become  instrumental  in  carrying  on  this  most  reprehen- 
sible and  pernicious  work. 

The  evil  practice  of  encouraging  and  circulating  reports 
or  tales  without  knowing  anything  about  their  truthful- 
ness is  too  common  and  too  serious  a  matter  to  pass  lightly 
by ;  it  prevails  to  a  greater  or  less  extent  in  all  classes  of 
society,  and  even  among  professed  Christians  ;  but  I  take 
the  liberty  right  here  to  say  that  no  person  can  be  a  good 
citizen  or  a  good  neighbor,  much  more  a  Christian  who 
will  encourage  or  circulate  a  rumor  or  tale  that  is  detri- 
mental to  the  interest  or  character  of  another,  without 
knowing  or  having  some  reliable  evidence  of  its  truthful- 


3OO  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

ness.  "  A  tree  is  known  by  the  fruit  it  bears."  Our  ac- 
tions are  the  fruits  of  our  character ;  therefore,  every 
person's  character  should  be  judged  by  his  or  her  actions 
and  not  by  what  designing  persons  may  say  about  them. 
Every  person  should  be  adjudged  innocent  until  there  is 
some  evidence  of  guilt.  The  rights  and  character  of  others 
should  always  be  held  as  sacred  as  those  of  ourselves.  We 
should  never  assume  a  privilege  that  we  are  not  willing  to 
grant  to  others.  It  is  far  easier  to  tear  down  than  to  build 
up.  Any  man  can  take  a  hammer  and  break  a  statue  in 
pieces,  or  with  one  stroke  of  the  brush  destroy  a  fine  paint- 
ing, but  it  is  not  every  man  who  can  model  the  first  or 
paint  the  latter.  Let  us  then  strive  to  look  closely  at  our 
own  lives  and  less  at  the  lives  of  others. 

Let  charity  for  our  fellow-beings  expand  and  deepen, 
and  depend  upon  it,  those  little  faults  which  mar  our  neigh- 
bor's character  will  vanish  like  the  wavelet  on  the  shore, 
that  is  caught  back  by  the  one  following,  leaving  a  spotless 
surface,  uninjured  by  the  marks  of  man. 

We  will  now  return  to  our  subject,  and  I  will  add  that 
there  is  a  certain  class  of  our  fair  sex  whose  examples  and 
influence  are  a  malediction  upon  that  God-given  name, 
woman,  and  is  pernicious  in  the  very  sight  of  all  true  and 
honorable  women.  And  she  is  the  idle,  gossiping  lady 
who  never  has  any  business  of  her  own,  but  wastes  a  whole 
lifetime  in  idle  gossip  and  watching  over  the  personal 
affairs  of  others,  and  whenever  she  does  try  to  present  her 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  30! 

nocturnal  illuminations  they  are  as  irradiate  and  as  mo- 
mentary as  a  flash  of  lightning  in  the  dark.  She  is  a 
nefarious,  heterogeneous,  unconglomerated  mass  of  nihil- 
ity,  and  good  for  nothing  but  a  stumbling-block,  and  an 
agent  for  the  devil,  and  is  under  the  continual  control  of 
that  schoolmaster.  She  makes  a  most  excellent  one,  too ; 
she  never  fails  to  give  every  one  a  call  that  comes  under 
her  jurisdiction.  Her  tongue  is  her  pen,  steeped  in  the 
dyes  of  defamation,  and  dipped  in  the  murky  waters  of 
falsehood,  with  which  she  inscribes  the  names  of  her 
victims. 

She  goes  into  the  peaceful  homes 

And  blows  her  poisonous  breath, 
And  writes  upon  the  fairest  one 

A  stain  as  deep  as  death. 

Her  tongue  is  never  still ;  her  heart  is  never  warm.  She 
carries  upon  her  lips  the  hissing  sound  of  a  Judas  kiss, 
with  duplicity  for  her  hobby-horse,  on  which  she  rides 
without  curb  or  reins,  with  a  branding-iron  in  one  hand 
and  a  dagger  in  the  other,  and  smiles  to  see  the  crimson 
current  stream  from  the  point  of  her  dagger  with  which 
she  has  pierced  the  heart  of  her  victim. 

She  neglects  her  household  duties,  her  husband  and 
children  (if  any  man  is  so  unfortunate  as  to  claim  her),  to 
attend  to  the  personal  affairs  of  other  people.  She  is  in 
possession  of  all  the  events  that  transpire,  from  the  grocery 
to  the  pulpit,  from  the  dark  alley-way  to  the  gubernatorial 


3O2  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

chair.  Nothing  escapes  her  observation.  Doors,  windows, 
gate-posts,  corners  of  the  streets,  are  all  familiar  to  her, 
where  she  stands  for  hours  watching  and  gossiping,  picking 
to  pieces  her  neighbor's  dress,  bonnet,  and  character,  while 
her  children  are  loafing  in  the  streets,  black  and  dirty,  and 
her  careworn  and  wearied  husband  is  toiling  and  struggling 
against  contending  billows  and  waves  of  misfortune  to  earn 
a  support  for  his  helpless  family ;  and  perhaps  his  strivings 
are  more  difficult  because  the  wife  he  has  so  unfortunately 
chosen  can  never  find  time  to  offer  him  any  assistance,  or 
even  give  him  a  word  of  cheer.  She  has  too  much  of 
other  people's  business  to  occupy  her  time.  Such  women 
have  done  as  much  toward  furnishing  material  for  our 
work-houses,  our  State  prisons,  our  asylums,  as  the  dis- 
tilleries of  intoxicating  liquors.  She  has  caused  many  a 
good  and  noble  man  to  fill  a  drunkard's  grave. 

As  this  subject  is  one  we  do  not  like  to  dwell  upon,  we 
will  leave  her  for  a  time  and  turn  our  thoughts  into  a  more 
magnanimous  and  philanthropic  channel,  and  dwell  with 
unspeakable  pleasure  upon  the  priceless  value  of  a  true 
and  good  woman,  whose  physiognomy  befits  the  reflection 
of  heavenly  purity  in  an  earthly  medium  that  crowns  her 
loveliness  as  piety  scatters  around  the  sweetness  and  power 
of  her  charms. 

"  How  divine  her  mission  here  upon  our  natural  sod !  " 
How  great  the  task  assigned  to  her  by  the  Omnipotent 
hand  of  Jehovah  !  but  not  to  make  laws,  not  to  lead  ar- 


A    BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  303 

mies,  not  to  govern  empires,  but  to  inspire  those  princi- 
ples, to  inculcate  those  doctrines,  to  animate  those  senti- 
ments which  generations  yet  unknown  and  nations  yet 
uncivilized  will  learn  to  bless.  Soften  firmness  into  mercy, 
allay  the  anguish  of  the  mind  by  her  tenderness,  disarm  pas- 
sion, visit  the  couch  of  the  tortured  sufferer,  the  prison  of 
the  deserted  friend,  the  cross  of  the  rejected  Saviour — 
these  are  the  theories  on  which  her  great  triumph  has  been 
achieved. 

Time  can  not  mar  the  love  of  a  pure  woman,  nor  rust 
deface  its  brilliancy.  Distance  strengthens  its  influence, 
bolts  and  bars  can  not  limit  its  progress.  It  follows  the 
prisoner  into  his  dark  cell.  She  loves  him  yet,  though 
the  world  turns  coldly  from  him.  Still  as  disease  lays  its 
hand  heavily  upon  the  strong  frame,  and  sorrow  wrings 
the  proud  heart  of  man,  she  is  at  his  side  teaching  him  to 
bend  to  the  storms  of  life,  that  he  may  not  be  broken 
by  them,  and  answering  his  countless  calls  till  the  stars 
pale  in  the  heavens,  and  no  repining  words  escape  her  lips, 
humbly  stooping  herself  that  she  may  remove  from  his 
path  every  stone  of  stumbling,  and  gently  lead  him  on- 
ward and  upward  to  a  Divine  Counselor,  with  whose 
blessed  ministrations  the  necessities  of  a  more  timid  spirit 
and  feeble  physical  organization  have  made  her  familiar. 

The  couch  made  by  the  hands  of  the  loved  one  is  soft 
to  his  weary  limbs;  the  pillow  carefully  adjusted  by  the 
same  hands  brings  sweet  repose  to  his  fevered  brain; 


304  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

and  her  words  of  kind  encouragement  revive  the  drooping 
spirit,  and  drive  sorrow  from  his  careworn  brow,  and  in- 
close it  in  wreaths  of  domestic  bliss. 

If  misfortune  is  his  lot  he  will  find  a  friendly  welcome 
from  a  heart  beating  true  to  his  own.  The  chosen  partner 
of  his  life  has  a  smile  of  approbation,  when  all  others 
have  refused,  and  a  heart  to  feel  his  sorrows  as  if  they 
were  her  own. 

It  would  almost  seem  that  God,  compassionating  wom- 
an's great  frailty,  had  planted  this  jewel  in  her  breast,  which 
like  a  tender  flower  expands  its  fragrance  to  all  around, 
till  transplanted  to  bloom  in  the  Paradise  of  God,  where 
immortal  flowers  forever  bloom,  and  crystal  waters  gush 
forth  from  exhaustless  fountains. 

How  sweetly  the  poet  has  said : 

"  Blessings  on  the  hand  of  woman, 

Angels  guard  its  strength  and  grace, 
In  the  cottage,  palace,  hovel, 
O,  no  matter  where  the  place. 

"  May  no  tempest  clouds  assail  thee, 

And  rainbow  ever  gently  curl, 
For  the  hand  that  rocks  the  cradle 
Is  the  hand  that  rules  the  world. 

"Infancy,  thy  tender  fountain, 

Bowers  may  with  beauty  flow, 

Mothers  first  to  guide  the  streamlet 

From  the  soul  unresting  grow. 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  305 

"  Grow  on  for  the  good  or  evil, 

Sunshine  streams  o'er  darkness  hurl, 
For  the  hand  that  rocks  the  cradle 
Is  the  hand  that  rules  the  world. 

"  Woman,  how  divine  your  mission, 

Here  upon  our  natural  sod, 
Keep,  O  keep,  the  young  heart  open 
Always  to  the  breath  of  God. 

"  All  true  trophies  of  the  ages, 

Are  from  mother's  love  imperiled, 
For  the  hand  that  rocks  the  cradle, 
Is  the  hand  that  rules  the  world." 

And  yet  with  all  her  charms,  her  purity  of  heart,  her 
high  aspiration  for  all  that  is  good  and  pure  and  noble,  is 
she  fully  appreciated  by  those  who  deem  themselves  her 
lord  and  master?  Is  she  valued  at  her  true  worth,  or  is 
she  placed  in  the  dish  of  balance  and  weighed  with  the 
fallen  and  unrighteous?  The  latter  I  will  answer,  yes. 
She  may  be  as  good  and  pure  as  the  breeze  that  kisses  the 
flowers  which  bloom  in  Paradise,  and  that  damnable  fin- 
ger of  suspicion  is  ever  pointing  toward  her,  especially  if 
fate  has  so  ordained  that  she  should  go  out  to  work  for 
her  daily  bread.  This  is  a  sad  truth,  reader,  and  as  I 
write  I  utter  a  prayer  for  the  working-women  of  our  fair 
land,  and  I  know  it  will  reach  the  throne  of  her  hidden 
Friend  and  wonderful  Counselor,  who  alone  will  give  her 
justice.  He  who  has  ever  been  as  true  to  the  barbarians 
20 


3O6  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

as  to  the  civilized  ;  who  has  stood  over  the  dusky  woman 
of  ancient  times,  and  hovered  around  the  accomplished 
mother  of  our  civilization,  when  she  lays  the  darling  of  her 
bosom  beneath  the  dark,  green  sod,  and  will  ever  stand 
over  the  last  lingering  spark  of  humanity,  until  the  star  of 
hope  ceases  to  blaze  and  disappears  from  the  heaven  of 
our  anticipations.  And  when  the  hills  and  valleys  of 
time  are  all  past,  when  the  weary  and  fervent  disap- 
pointments and  sorrows  of  life  are  over,  and  the  weary 
weaver  has  finished  her  web  of  destiny  at  the  loom  of 
time,  and  it  has  ceased  its  motion,  she  will  then  find  her 
reward  in  that  beautiful  homestead  over  whose  blessed 
roofs  no  sorrow  even  of  clouds,  across  whose  threshold 
the  voice  of  sorrow  is  never  heard  ;  built  upon  eternal  hills, 
and  standing  with  spires  and  pinnacles  of  celestial  beauty 
beneath  the  shadows  of  the  palm  trees  of  the  city  on  high. 
In  some  countries  woman  is  looked  upon  as  being  an  in- 
ferior creature,  and  is  treated  with  as  much  servility  as 
their  horses  and  cattle,  and  our  own  Southern  sunny  land 
is  full,  too,  alas  !  of  men  who  look  upon  her  with  no  higher 
appreciation  ;  but  it  is  only  those  whose  selfish  hearts  have 
never  asked  themselves,  Were  the  cross  of  woman  laid  on 
their  cowardly  shoulders  would  they  be  able  to  bear  it  ? 

The  rib  was  not  taken  from  Adam's  foot,  that  man 
might  trample  woman  beneath  him  ;  neither  was  it  taken 
from  his  head  that  she  might  rule  over  him  ;  but  was  taken 
from  his  side  that  she  might  be  his  equal. 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  3O/ 

Woman  was  given  unto  man  as  a  helpmeet,  but  not  as 
a  helpmeet  in  his  kitchen  and  his  field  alone  as  a  servant, 
but  as  his  equal,  his  companion. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  equality  as  here  used?  is  it 
not  intended  to  convey  the  idea  that  the  soul  of  woman 
has  an  equal  interest  with  man  in  all  those  great  events 
which  have  marked  the  dealings  of  God  with  His  intelli- 
gent creatures  on  our  earth  ? 

"Are  we  not  to  understand  from  this,  that  woman, 
equally  with  man,  has  a  trust  committed  to  her  by  the 
great  Jehovah,  for  the  fulfillment  of  which  she  will  be  held 
responsible  ? 

' '  Were  not  Mary  and  Martha  loved  as  well  as  Laza- 
rus ?  and  did  not  the  soul  of  Anna  kindle  with  as  divine 
an  inspiration  as  that  of  Simeon's  when  she  held  in  her 
arms  the  infant  Saviour  ? 

"Although  woman  was  tempted  by  Satan  to  violate 
the  laws  of  God.  and  caused  her  husband  to  violate  them, 
whereby  he  lost  his  seat  in  Paradise,  and  doomed  his 
descendants  to  toil  and  suffering  and  death,  yet  if  she  was 
first  in  transgression  she  was  first  in  the  breach.  She 
stood  by  the  expiring  Saviour  when  boasting  Peter  and 
His  other  disciples  had  forsaken  their  Lord  and  Mas- 
ter; she  was  last  at  the  tomb,  embalmed  His  sacred  body, 
and  was  first  to  discover  that  He  had  bursted  the  bars  of 
death." 

Has  the  value  of  a  good  and  true  woman  ever  been  enumer- 


3O8  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

ated?  That  question  will  remain  unanswered  until  she 
hears  it  echoed  from  the  throne  of  the  Great  Judge  and 
Counselor — although  woman's  labor  has  been  consid- 
ered as  a  matter  of  little  importance  by  the  lords  of  crea- 
tion ;  and  I  have  heard  some  of  them  make  some  ex- 
tremely soothing  observations,  something  after  this  style : 
"  O,  how  I  would  like  to  have  as  easy  a  time  as  a  woman. 
Just  to  sit  in  the  house  all  day  and  have  nothing  in  the  world 
to  do. "  Now,  I  would  like  for  all  those  who  have  such  nar- 
row views  of  woman's  worth  to  try  Darby's  plan  just  a 
little  while,  and  I  think  they  will  change  their  views  upon 
the  subject,  and  will  acknowledge  that  her  vocation  is 
equally,  if  not  more,  laborious  than  their  own. 

"  When  Darby  saw  the  setting  sun, 
He  swung  his  scythe  and  home  he  run, 
Sat  down,  drank  off  his  pint,  and  said, 

'  My  work  is  done,  I'll  go  to  bed.' 

'  My  work  is  done,'  retorted  Joan, 

'  My  work  is  done,  your  constant  tone  ; 
But  helpless  woman  ne'er  can  say 
My  work  is  done  till  judgment  day.' 
Here  Darby  hem'd  and  scratched  his  head 
To  answer  what  his  Joan  had  said  ; 
But  all  in  vain  her  clack  went  on  — 

'  Yes,  woman's  work  is  never  done.' 
At  early  morn  e'er  Phoebus  rose 
Joan  resumed  her  tale  of  woes, 
When  Darby  said,  'I'll  end  the  strife, 
You  be  the  man  and  I  the  wife  ; 


A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME.  309 

Take  you  the  scythe,  and  now  while  I 
Will  all  your  boasting  cares  supply.' 
'Content,'  quoth  Joan,  'give  me  the  stent,' 
This  Darby  did  and  out  she  went. 
Darby  arose  and  seized  the  broom 
And  whirled  the  dirt  around  the  room, 
Which  having  done,  he  scarce  knew  how, 
And  out  he  went  to  milk  the  cow. 
The  fretful  cow  whisked  round  her  tail 
In  Darby's  eye,  and  kicked  the  pail ; 
Darby  perplexed  with  grief  and  shame 
Swore  he'd  never  try  to  milk  again, 
When  turning  round  in  sad  amaze 
He  saw  his  cottage  in  a  blaze. 
As  he  chanced  to  brush  the  room 
In  careless  haste  he  fired  the  broom. 
The  fire  at  last  subdued,  he  swore 
The  broom  and  he  would  meet  no  more. 
Pressed  by  misfortune,  and  perplexed, 
Darby  prepared  for  breakfast  next, 
But  what  to  get  he  scarcely  knew, 
The  bread  was  spent  and  butter,  too, 
With  hands  bedaubed  with  paste  and  flour 
Poor  Darby  labored  full  an  hour. 
But,  helpless  wight,  he  could  not  make 
The  dough  take  form  of  loaf  or  cake. 
As  every  door  wide  open  stood, 
In  came  the  pig  in  search  of  food, 
And  stumbling  onward  with  her  snout 
O'erset  the  churn,  the  cream  ran  out. 
As  Darby  turned  the  pig  to  beat, 
The  slippery  cream  betrayed  his  feet, 


3IO  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

He  caught  the  bread-tray  in  his  fall 
And  down  came  Darby,  tray,  and  all. 
The  children  awakened  by  the  clatter 
Started  up  and  cried,  '  What  is  the  matter?  ' 
Old  Jowler  barked,  and  Tabby  mewed, 
And  helpless  Darby  bawled  aloud, 
'Return,  my  Joan,  heretofore, 
I'll  play  the  housewife  part  no  more ; 
I  see  by  sad  experience  taught 
Compared  with  thine,  my  work  is  naught, 
Henceforth  as  business  calls  I'll  take 
Content  the  plow,  the  scythe,  the  rake, 
And  never  will  transgress  the  line 
Our  fates  have  marked,  whilst  thou  art  mine.'  " 

Now,  if  every  man  would  try  Darby's  plan  for  once  in 
his  life,  woman  would  be  more  appreciated  and  less  up- 
braided, and  we  would  not  hear  so  much  about  woman's 
indolence  and  woman's  extravagance.  Extravagance ! 
This  is  another  one  of  her  besetting  sins ;  for  we  can  hard- 
ly pick  up  a  newspaper  without  finding  something  about 
woman's  extravagance,  with  admonitions  about  the  dread- 
ful sin  committed,  etc.,  and  I  for  one  have  been  unable  to 
see  that  women  are  any  more  given  to  willful  waste  than 
men ;  it  is  only  in  a  different  manner,  and  with  this  view 
of  the  case  in  my  mind,  I  propose  to  give  the  other  side 
of  the  question.  Some  man  will  lay  out  hundreds  of  dol- 
lars for  his  farming  implements,  that  his  business  might 
glide  on  smoothly  without  any  difficulty,  or  without  one- 
half  the  labor  that  is  required  of  the  muscles  of  man,  that 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  3  I  I 

his  land  may  be  cultivated  and  his  harvest  reaped,  as  he 
leisurely  rides  along  upon  the  seat  of  his  machinery  with 
an  umbrella  at  his  back  and  the  smoke  of  ten  cents  curl- 
ing gracefully  over  his  nose,  when  he  would  look  as  sour 
as  a  crab-apple  if  his  wife  would  even  hint  about  buying  a 
sewing-machine,  or  mention  the  death  of  the  old  stove 
that  had  been  her  companion  for  the  last  ten  years.  Be- 
sides, who  is  it  that  takes  all  the  old  clothing  that  has  been 
worn  until  it  would  seem  impossible  to  make  use  of  them 
any  longer,  and  rip  them  up,  and  press  them,  and  turn 
them  inside  out,  and  bottom  side  up,  and  make  them  into 
dresses  and  pants  for  Katie  and  Jimmie  and  Johnnie? 
And  who  is  it  that  takes  all  the  old  paper-collars  and  cast- 
off  clothing  that  is  of  no  service,  and  transforms  them  into 
pie-pans,  water-dippers,  and  nutmeg-graters?  And  who 
is  it  that  saves  all  the  little  scraps  of  meat,  and  the  little 
grease  that  accumulates  from  day  to  day,  and  with  a  little 
acid  of  potash  and  sal  soda  it  reappears  in  gallons  of  nice, 
soft  soap?  Was  it  the  man  who  did  this?  No!  His 
plan  would  be  to  throw  it  in  the  fire  and  make  clean  work 
of  it.  Now,  if  the  man  was  as  careful  with  all  matters, 
great  and  small,  in  his  department,  as  the  woman  is  in 
hers,  there  would  be  many  dollars  saved  that  are  thrown 
away,  and  do  no  one  any  good.  But  he  is  so  much 
occupied  in  watching  the  women  folk  he  has  no  time  to 
spare  to  look  over  the  small  matters  in  his  own  depart- 
ment. While  looking  so  intently  at  the  mote  in  the  house- 


312  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

hold  management,  he  stumbles  over  the  beam  of  misman- 
agement in  his  own  department.  And  if  he  does  not 
prosper  as  fast  as  he  thinks  he  ought  to,  it  is  all  owing  to 
the  woman's  carelessness  and  extravagance ;  and  who, 
because  it  will  not  be  resented,  inflicts  his  spleen  and  bad 
temper  upon  those  who  love  him  best,  simply  because  the 
security  of  love  and  family  pride  keeps  him  from  getting 
his  head  broken.  And  if  he  is  handsome,  thinks  himself 
a  perfect  Apollo,  and  is  vain  enough  to  imagine  that  every 
woman  who'  looks  or  smiles  upon  him  is  in  love  with  him. 
And,  with  his  head  full  of  imaginary  conquests,  he  goes 
home  to  his  quiet,  patient  wife,  and  delights  himself  by 
snubbing  her  at  every  other  word,  in  the  most  supercilious 
manner. 

And  when — her  heart  full  of  the  truest  love  for  this  un- 
worthy being — she  humbles  herself  in  acts  of  devotion  to 
him,  really  in  every  sense  her  "lord  and  master,"  he  treats 
her,  as  her  reward,  in  a  contemptuous  manner,  as  if  she 
were  too  much  beneath  him  to  allow  her  a  commonplace 
civility.  The  holiest  and  strongest  love  that  ever  entered 
the  heart  of  woman  can  be  stung  to  death  by  such  a  man, 

and 

"  The  heart  that  loves  the  deepest 

Can  also  deepest  hate." 

This  sort  of  men  generally  have  good  wives,  who  die 
off  early,  and  it  always  happens  that  the  one  who  soon 
takes  her  place  is  a  regular  Tartar,  and  makes  him  hop, 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  313 

skip,  and  jump  in  a  lively  style,  and  before  he  is  aware  of 
it,  he  is  as  bald  an  eagle. 

"  It  is  a  shame  that  a  man  will  speak  more  impolitely  at 
times  to  his  wife  or  sisters  than  he  would  dare  to  any  other 
female,  except  a  low  and  vicious  one.  It  is  thus  that  the 
holiest  affection  of  man's  nature  proves  to  be  a  weaker 
protection  to  a  woman  in  the  family  circle  than  the  re- 
straints of  society,  and  that  woman  is  usually  indebted 
for  the  kindness  and  politeness  of  life  to  those  not  belong- 
ing to  her  own  household. 

"  Kind  words  are  the  circulating  medium  between  true 
gentlemen  and  true  ladies  at  home,  and  no  polish  exhib- 
ited in  society  can  atone  for  the  harsh  language  and  dis- 
respectful treatment  too  often  indulged  in  between  those 
bound  together  by  God's  own  ties  of  blood,  and  the  still 
more  sacred  bonds  of  conjugal  love. 

' '  The  true  ideal  of  a  husband  is  one  who  considers  his 
wife  his  equal ;  treats  her  on  all  occasions  with  respect ; 
does  not  think  it  beneath  him  to  confide  to  her  the  state 
of  his  finances  ;  loves  to  have  and  enjoy  her  society  at 
home  and  abroad  ;  and  lets  her  see  that  he  cares  more 
about  pleasing  her  than  himself,  and  not  want  everything 
in  and  about  the  house  to  suit  himself  and  no  one  else. 
In  fact,  they  are  true  gentlemen — generous,  unexacting, 
courteous  of  speech,  and  kind  of  heart.  In  them  you 
will  find  the  protecting  strength  of  manhood,  which  scorns 
to  use  its  strength  except  for  protection — the  proud  hon- 


3H  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

esty  of  man  which  infinitely  prefers  being  lovingly  and 
openly  resisted  to  being  twisted  around  one's  finger,  as 
mean  men  are  twisted,  and  mean  women  will  always  be 
found  ready  to  do  it,  but  which,  I  think,  all  honest  men 
and  brave  women  not  merely  dislike,  but  utterly  despise. 
' '  There  has  been  a  little  moldly  piece  of  sentiment  fished 
up  from  the  brain  of  some  egotistical  old  bachelor,  and 
that  is,  'Always  meet  your  husband  with  a  smile,'  just 
as  if  it  was  not  as  much  the  duty  of  a  man  to  confer  smiles 
upon  his  wife  as  it  is  hers  to  confer  smiles  upon  him,  and 
much  the  easier,  I  should  imagine,  for  it  is  not  such  an 
easy  matter  for  a  woman  to  scare  up  a  smile  every  time 
her  lord  and  master  happens  to  step  in,  especially  if  she  is 
trying  to  get  dinner  over  a  smoky  stove  with  half  a  dozen 
little  '  pinafores '  clinging  to  her  skirts  ;  and  if  one  of 
them  happens  to  come  in  his  way,  it's  '  clear  the  track, 
children  ;  don't  trouble  me ;  run  to  your  mother,  she  will 
attend  to  you.'  At  the  same  time,  he  will  light  his  Hav- 
ana, place  himself  in  an  easy  chair,  and  elevate  his  heels 
above  the  level  of  his  nose,  and  bury  himself  in  a  news- 
paper, and  remain  a  fixture  for  the  evening.  Perhaps  the 
wife  will  come  in  weary  and  worji,  thinking  she  will  have 
a  sociable  chat  with  her  husband.  Not  a  bit  of  it !  There 
he  sits,  buried  in  that  odious  newspaper,  informing  madam, 
by  appearance  if  not  by  words,  that  he  does  not  wish  to  be 
disturbed.  So,  with  a  faint  little  sigh  she  turns  away,  and 
with  unswerving,  martyr-like  devotion  plies  her  neecile  and 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  315 

thread  until  that  man  gets  ready  to  speak  to  her,  and  that 
will  probably  be  when  he  wants  a  button  sewed  on." 

"  From  Monday  morning  till  Saturday  night, 
She  is  toiling  and  struggling  with  all  her  might. 
The  scouring  and  washing  to  be  done, 
Cows  to  milk  and  cream  to  churn, 
Beds  to  make  and  furniture  to  dust, 
Ashes  to  take  up  and  rooms  to  brush, 
The  cradle  to  rock  and  socks  to  darn  : 
One  baby  in  the  cradle  and  another  on  her  arm  ; 
While  Johnnie  is  crying,  '  Mamma,  want  a  piece  of  bread  ! ' 
And  Jimmie  crying,  '  Mamma,  want  to  go  to  bed! ' 
Dinner  to  get  and  pies  to  bake, 
Though  her  eyes  are  red  with  a  sick-headache ; 
Dishes  to  wash  and  cream  to  churn, 
And  supper  to  get  before  papa's  return  ; 
And  after  supper  is  prepared  and  the  table  spread, 
And  the  lord  and  master  the  blessings  have  said, 
The  faithful  mother  the  tea  will  pour, 
P'or  six  or  eight  little  ones,  or  more; 
And,  one  by  one.  they'll  drop  to  sleep, 
And  the  mother  from  the  table  must  make  her  retreat; 
And  when  she  returns  her  coffee  is  cold, 
And  her  butter  is  even  frozen  still  on  her  roll. 
After  each  little  one  his  prayer  has  said, 
And  tucked  away  snugly  in  his  little  trundle-bed, 
Poor  mamma  sinks  wearily  in  her  chair, 
She  looks  weary  and  worn,  but  her  sewing  is  there; 
She'll  sit  and  sew  till  eleven  or  more, 
While  her  needle  keeps  time  with  her  husband's  snore. 
Stitch,  stitch,  stitch,  from  gusset  to  seam, 
And  her  buttons,  sometimes,  sewed  on  in  a  dream. 


3l6  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

O,  all  you  men  who  have  carelessly  said, 
'  Woman's  labor  is  nothing,'  'tis  shame  on  your  head  ; 
Just  try  it  awhile,  and  you'll  find  it  no  sham  ; 
You'll  calmly  admit  that  you'd  rather  be  a  man." 


Now,  my  dear  reader,  I  am  only  speaking  of  those  men 
who  are  built  up  without  hearts,  or  if  they  have  a  heart, 
it  has  never  been  reached  only  through  their  stomach. 
Man  is  as  promiscuous  as  woman.  They  are  not  all  alike, 
thanks  to  the  maker;  but  I  do  say,  if  they  were  all  a 
little  more  self  sacrificing,  and  let  their  wives  see  that  they 
were  appreciated  by  their  husbands,  let  her  see  that  he 
cares  more  about  pleasing  her  than  himself,  I  have  no 
doubt  but  there  would  be  more  happy  men  and  women 
in  this  world,  and  the  court  dockets  would  not  be  disfig- 
ured with  applications  for  divorces.  One  single  word  of 
praise  from  the  husband  will  do  more  toward  raising  a  sec- 
ond heaven  in  a  wife's  heart  than  all  the  flattery  and  praise 
the  whole  world  can  bestow.  And  even  if  that  husband 
should  think  that  his  wife  is  not  worthy  of  his  praises  and 
commendation,  the  sacrifice  he  makes  of  his  feelings  is  not 
such  a  great  boon  after  all.  Self-sacrifice  is  more  glorious 
than  victory.  The  most  glorious  episode  in  the  revolu- 
tionary war  was  not  the  surrender  of  Burgoyne  or  Lord 
Cornwallis.  It  was  the  march  across  the  plains  at  jersey 
and  the  winter  encampment  at  Valley  Forge.  It  is  the 
glory  of  Christ  that  points  us  to  God,  and  who  willingly 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  317 

laid  aside  robe  and  scepter  and  crown  for  love's  sake  ; 
who,  though  he  was  rich,  became  poor,  that  we  through 
his  poverty  might  be  made  rich. 

\Yhat  is  the  glory  of  a  good  man  ?  Is  it  fame  ?  No  ! 
Is  it  bravery  ?  No!  Is  it  money?  No!  Is  it  good  din- 
ners? No!  It  is  the  chosen  partner  of  his  toils — the 
crowning  joy  of  his  life. 

What  is  the  glory  of  woman  ?  It  has  often  been  said 
by  (we  know  whom)  that  her  chief  glory  is  in  fine  dress, 
waving  plumes,  and  artificial  blossoms,  but 

Say  not  woman's  love  is  bought 

With  vain  and  empty  treasure  ; 
O,  say  not  woman's  heart  is  caught 

By  every  idle  pleasure. 

Her  chief  glory  is  in  the  patience  of  a  love  that  beareth 
all  things,  hopeth  all  things,  that  endureth  all  things, 
and  not  in  the  apparel  with  which  she  is  clothed.  And  I 
trust  the  day  will  yet  come  when  good  and  true  women 
will  be  valued  at  their  intrinsic  worth.  Though  I  fear 
that  time  will  never  come,  unless  "every  tub  is  made  to 
stand  upon  its  own  bottom,"  and  that  the  world  will 
cease  to  condemn  the  whole  race  of  God's  fair  creatures 
because  some  of  them  have  deviated  from  the  paths  of 
virtue  and  truth.  But,  my  fair  readers,  you,  to  whom  I 
dedicate  these  few  written  pages,  there  is  one  thing  need- 
ful, and  that  is  that  bond  of  sympathy  which  is  so  much 


3l8  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME. 

required  between  our  women  of  the  present  day.  If  we 
would  be  more  charitable  toward  each  other,  and  appre- 
ciate our  own  sex  more  than  we  do,  and  try  to  exalt  our 
neighbor's  wife,  instead  of  trying  to  humiliate  her,  men 
would  be  more  charitable  in  their  criticisms  toward  women. 
And,  with  this  view  of  the  case  in  my  mind,  I  do  not  con- 
sider it  entirely  man's  fault  it  we  are  not  more  highly  ap- 
preciated by  them.  If  we  do  not  honor,  love,  and  appreciate 
our  own  sex,  we  can  not  expect  it  of  the  sterner  sex. 

Therefore,  let  us  write  our  name,  by  kindness,  love, 
and  mercy,  upon  the  heart  of  each  and  every  one,  though 
lowly  they  may  be. 

For  the  lowliest  heart  with  love  can  beat, 

The  humblest  soul  aspire  ; 
And  write  on  earth  a  record  sweet, 

That  seraphs  may  admire. 

Let  us  be  tender  with  our  friends  while  they  are  with 
us,  and  not  wait  until  they  are  dead  to  find  out  their  good 
qualities,  and  strew  flowers  upon  their  graves,  which 
should  have  been  strewn  upon  their  pathway  while  liv- 
ing. Let  us  bring  all  possible  sweetness  and  tender- 
ness and  truthfulness  into  all  our  relations  with  each 
other,  thus  blessing  and  being  blessed,  and  our  names  and 
deeds  will  be  as  legible  on  the  hearts  of  our  neighbors  as 
the  stars  on  the  brow  of  the  evening,  and  our  gloomy 
and  rayless  homes  will  be  transformed  into  flowery  meads, 


A    BEAUTIFUL    HIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  319 

and  we  will  not  only  lay  the  foundation  for  our  terrestial 
glory,  but  will  erect  a  structure  for  our  celestial  glory. 

We  build  for  eternity.  The  present  life  is  only  a  prep- 
aration for  that  glorious  life  everlasting.  The  present  is 
linked  with  the  future  through  creation,  in  the  vegetable, 
in  the  animal,  and  in  the  moral,  world. 

As  is  the  egg,  so  is  the  fowl ;  as  is  the  boy,  so  is  the 
man  ;  as  is  the  girl,  so  is  the  woman  ;  and  as  the  rational 
being  in  this  world,  so  will  he  be  in  the  next  world. 

Dives  estranged  from  God  in  this  world  is  Dives 
estranged  from  God  in  the  next  world.  Enoch  walking 
with  God  here  is  Enoch  walking  with  God  in  a  calm  and 
better  world.  Perhaps  you  think  that  o'ne  hour  buries 
another,  but  it  is  not  so.  You  think,  perhaps,  that  you 
have  parted  forever  from  the  things  which  have  passed 
you.  Xo,  you  have  not.  It  has  only  stepped  behind 
you,  and  there  it  waits  ;  that  which  you  have  done  is  with 
you  to-day,  and  that  which  you  are  doing  will  be  with  you 
to-morrow. 

When  the  mason  carries  up  a  wall,  the  course  of  brick 
he  laid  yesterday  is  the  foundation  upon  which  he  is  lay- 
ing another  course  to-day.  And  all  that  you  do  on  the 
structure  which  you  are  building  will  remain  as  a  basis  for 
that  you  will  do  to-morrow.  And  all  that  has  been  done 
is  the  understructure  for  that  which  is  to  be  done. 

The  following  is  for  you,  young  ladies :  Take  heed 
how  you  build.  That  which  you  are  doing,  the  work 


32O  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

which  you  are  performing,  you  do  not  leave  behind  you 
because  you  forget  it ;  it  passes  away  from  you  apparently, 
but  not  in  reality.  Every  stroke,  every  single  element, 
abides.  And  one  hour  each  day  that  you  waste  on  trifles 
or  indolence,  saved  and  daily  devoted  to  improvement,  is 
enough  to  make  an  ignorant  woman  wise  in  ten  years — to 
provide  the  luxuries  of  intelligence  to  a  mind  torpid  from 
the  lack  of  energy  to  brighten  up  and  strengthen  facul- 
ties perishing  with  rust — to  make  life  a  fruitful  field  and 
death  a  harvest  of  glorious  deeds.  Real  life  is  thought 
and  action.  Usefulness  strengthens  our  days.  But  lazi- 
ness, like  rust,  eats  into  the  very  heart  of  our  strength. 
It  is  the  paralysis  of  the  soul.  All  power  appears  only  in 
transaction.  The  firefly  only  glows  when  upon  its  wing. 
And  all  that  are  desirous  of  rosy  cheeks,  good  appetite,  and 
sweet  temper,  let  me  recommend  to  you  nature's  physi- 
cian, who  will  fill  all  your  prescriptions  free.  And  his 
name  is  employment ;  and  any  occupation  is  better  than 
nothing  at  all.  Life,  with  all  its  joys  and  sorrows,  is  open 
before  you  ;  life,  with  all  its  opportunities  and  possibilities, 
beckons  you  forward !  Do  not  go  out  in  the  world  indo- 
lent and  listless,  drifting  hither  and  thither  on  the  boister- 
ous sea  of  life  without  a  single  noble  purpose  or  a  single 
high  aspiration.  As  you  raise  yourselves,  you  raise  society, 
and  infallibly  raise  men  with  you.  From  the  throne  of 
home  and  fireside  woman  wields  the  triple  scepter  of  love, 
charity,  virtue,  and  benevolence,  and  her  influence  from 
that  noble  position  is  felt  wherever  man  is  found. 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  32! 

Paul  says  that  woman  should  be  very  bashful  and 
shame-faced,  and  should  keep  her  head  covered.  There 
is  nothing  that  the  world  admires  more  than  modesty  in  a 
lady,  but  there  are  two  kinds  of  modesty,  the  true  and 
the  false,  but  the  latter  is  more  prevalent,  and  my  opinion 
is  that  if  Paul  could  rise  from  the  grave  and  view  the  thou- 
sands of  women  going  to  destruction,  sitting  in  the  lap  of 
false  modesty,  he  would  weep  as  no  man  ever  wept  before, 
and  would  exclaim  with  a  loud  voice,  saying:  "Young 
ladies,  uncover  your  heads,  and  tear  from  your  faces  the 
veil  of  false  modesty  ;  buckle  on  your  armor  of  faith,  hope, 
and  independence,  and  look  the  world  square  in  the  face, 
and  never  be  ashamed  of  honest  labor." 

There  has  been  quite  a  revolution  on  our  terrestrial 
globe  since  Paul's  day.  This  world  has  been  transformed 
into  a  grab-box,  and  its  citizens  are  the  grabbers.  All 
those  who  have  no  one  to  grab  for  them  will  have  to  grab 
for  themselves.  It  is  not  every  woman  that  is  blessed 
with  a  good  grabber,  while  there  are  thousands  who  have 
none  at  all,  and  no  likelihood  of  it.  Now,  my  opinion  is, 
if  we  all  sit  back  with  covered  heads  and  bashful  faces, 
while  the  performance  is  going  on,  we  will  be  pretty  apt 
to  come  out  lacking,  and  the  worst  of  it  is  we  will  come 
out  hungry,  too. 

You  may  now  be  blessed  with  happy  homes  and  kind 
parents,  and  all  in  life  to  make  you  happy.  Your  paths 
may  be  strewn  with  flowers  of  the  richest  hue,  and  pros- 
21 


322  A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

perity  may  hover  over  you  with  her  shining  wings,  while 
the  gentle  zephyrs  catch  the  echo  of  your  mirthful  laugh- 
ter and  chant  it  across  the  chords  of  the  JEolian  harp.  But 
you  "know  not  what  a  day  may  bring  forth."  Death 
may  come  along  and  take  those  parents  from  you.  Ad- 
versity may  come  along  and  sweep  from  over  your  unso- 
phisticated heads  that  dear  parental  roof,  and  you  may  be 
left  alone  "to  live  or  die,  survive  or  perish,"  with  nothing 
but  your  resolution,  your  energies,  and  a  right  mind,  to 
labor  and  to  wait,  and  to  make  the  best  of  life  you  can. 

The  time  will  surely  come  when  you  will  be  called  on 
to  do  your  share  of  the  duties  and  responsibilities  of  life. 
Do  it  cheerfully  and  prayerfully,  and,  if  your  hands  are 
browned  by  labor,  do  not  envy  Miss  Fuss-and-Feathers, 
whose  mother  works  in  the  kitchen,  while  the  daughter 
lounges  in  the  sitting-room.  Do  not  feel  yourselves  too 
lofty  to  do  anything  that  is  honorable. 

Christ  washed  the  weary  feet  of  His  disciples — to-day, 
Christ  is  enthroned.  Even  the  highest  archangel  bows 
before  Him.  The  nobles  and  dignitaries  of  heaven  are 
none  the  less  respectful,  none  the  less  worshipful,  because 
He  washed  the  dusty  feet  of  His  disciples.  And,  when  we 
come  to  stand  before  Him,  think  you  that  we  will  be  less 
honored  because  we  have  done  lowly  service  ?  Ah  !  my 
friend,  it  ' '  demands  a  far  more  nobility  of  soul  to  observe 
the  importance  of  little  things  than  to  follow  the  great." 

"  Great  events  come  from  small  beginnings.     The  high- 


A    BEAUTIFUL    BIRD    WITHOUT   A    NAME.  323 

est  workmen  are  those  who  take  the  trifles  of  to-day,  and 
make  of  them  the  grand  movements  of  to-morrow." 

"  Great  men  and  noble  women  in  all  ages,  and  among 
all  nations,  have  worked  their  way  up  from  the  bottom, 
like  a  seed  cast  upon  the  earth,  to  rise  up  and  unfold  the 
branches,  the  blossoms,  and  the  fruit,  whose  tender  buds 
are  first  directed  by  the  delicate  hands  of  a  faithful 
mother." 

Go  to  the  worm  that  you  tread  upon  and  learn  a  lesson 
of  wisdom.  The  very  caterpillar  that  seeks  the  food 
that  fosters  it  for  another  and  similar  state,  and  more  wise 
than  man,  builds  its  own  sepulcher  from  which,  in  time,  by 
a  kind  of  resurrection,  it  comes  forth  a  new  creature  almost 
angelic  in  form.  That  which  crawled  flies,  and  that  which 
fed  on  comparatively  gross  food  sips  the  honey  from 
the  beautiful  flowers,  and  the  dewdrops  that  sparkle  and 
revel  in  the  green  pastures,  an  emblem  of  that  paradise 
where  flows  the  River  of  Life,  and  grows  the  tree  of 
life.  If  the  caterpillar  had  never  attained  the  butterfly's 
splendid  form  and  hue,  it  would  have  certainly  perished  a 
worthless  worm. 

Consider  their  ways  and  be  wise.  Let  not  our  reason 
be  less  available  than  their  instinct.  And  as  often  as  it 
flits  across  our  path,  remember  it  whispers  in  its  flight, 
"  We  live  in  deeds  and  not  in  words."  So  live  and  act  in 
all  the  positions  that  you  may  be  called  to  fill,  in  all  the 
duties  of  life  with  which  you  may  be  burdened,  that, 


324  A  BEAUTIFUL  BIRD  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

when  at  last  for  you,  the  bucket  is  broken  at  the  well,  the 
pitcher  at  the  fountain,  and  the  gold  cord  of  life  is  snapped 
asunder,  when  at  last  for  you  the  bell  tolls  a  requiem,  and 
the  angel  of  death  hovers  over  your  shattered  form  and 
sweeps  away  the  mist  that  gathers  on  the  soul  in  its  earth 
wanderings,  heaven's  aisles  may  echo  with,  "Well  done, 
thou  good  and  faithful  servant.  Thou  hast  been  faithful  in 
a  few  things,  I  will  make  thee  ruler  over  many." 

THE   END. 


DOUBT  AND  DESPAIR. 

Alone  I  made  my  daily  round, 

With  a  spirit  of  unrest  and  strife  ; 
And  I  thought  to  myself  as  I  pondered  along, 
"  What  is  this  wearisome  thing  called  life?" 

For  my  path  was  rugged,  and  briers 

Grew  thick  with  each  day ; 
The  road  was  of  stone,  and  tired 

My  feet  in  their  toilsome  way. 

Depressed  with  care  I  wandered  forth, 

Some  shady  spot  to  seek  ; 
The  sun  was  shining  bright  in  heaven, 

Its  rays  the  sky  did  streak. 

Through  many  a  narrow  path  I  pressed, 

Till  'neath  an  ancient  tree 
I  saw  an  aged  man  at  rest 

And  lost  in  reverie. 

Upon  his  venerable  brow 

Deep  thought  had  set  its  seal, 
And  I,  with  a  respectful  bow, 

Did  thus  to  him  appeal : 

"  Old  man,  content  you  seem  to  be, 

While  I  my  head  in  sorrow  bend ; 
Can  you  not  tell  me  what  is  best 
For  a  discontented  friend  ? 

"  What  is  best  for  me  to  try 
Contentment  to  secure? 
What  will  my  many  wants  supply 
And  happiness  insure?" 

(325) 


326  DOUBT  AND  DESPAIR. 

Looking  up  with  tearful  eyes 

The  old  man  did  thus  respond  : 
"  My  child,  you  seek  perfection  here — 
'Tis  nowhere  to  be  found  ! 

"  Earthly  anticipations  bright, 

However  freely  they  are  given, 
Bring  neither  unalloyed  delight  — 

There  is  no  peace  this  side  of  heaven. 

"  Religion  points  the  only  way 

To  charms  so  truly  great ; 
The  honest  Christian  surely  may 
In  peace  those  charms  await !  " 

I  then  my  own  little  chamber  sought, 
And  knelt  there  down  and  prayed. 

That  God  would  give  me  courage, 
The  sea  of  life  to  wade. 

Then  upon  my  couch  I  sank, 

My  cares  to  forget, 
And  soon  to  the  land  of  dreams  I  roved, 

And  two  hideous  figures  met. 

Upon  a  ship  I  seemed  to  ride, 
Whose  sails  were  blacker  than  the  tide ; 
Upon  its  ghostly  deck  I  stood, 
And  gazed  upon  a  sea  of  blood. 

As  I  stood  upon  the  lonely  deck, 
These  hideous  figures  came, 

To  steer  my  phantom  ship  across 
The  dark  and  stormy  main. 

Upon  their  heads  they  wear  a  crown 
With  their  appellation  branded  there, 

And  as  I  gazed  on  them  I  found 

Their  names  were  Doubt  and  Despair. 


DOUBT    AND    DESPAIR.  327 

O,  those  dark  and  hideous  figures ! 

O'er  me  their  forms  were  bowed, 
And  o'er  their  face  was  wrapped  a  mantle 

And  robed  as  with  an  angry  cloud. 

"  I'll  give  you  a  crown,"  said  Despair, 
"  A  crown  a  queen  might  proudly  wear, 
With  leaves  and  stems  of  matchless  sheen, 
Of  emerald  seem  superbly  green." 

And  upon  my  pallid  brow  they  placed 

A  wreath  of  thorns  instead  of  flowers, 
Then  rang  the  mocking  laugh — ha,  ha ! 

As  they  gazed  upon  these  brandish  bowers. 

I  then  with  bitter  anguish  flung 

Myself  beneath  the  darkening  sky, 
So  black  the  clouds  that  o'er  me  hung, 

I  laid  me  down  and  prayed  to  die. 

But  vainly  rose  my  feeble  prayer, 

The  King  of  Terrors  came  not  there, 
The  wind  swept  on  with  ceaseless  moan, 

And  mocked  my  prayer  with  hollow  tone. 

"  Now  come,''  said  Doubt,  "  and  dwell  with  me, 

There  is  no  one  that  cares  for  thee  ; 
For  thee  there's  naught  but  grief  and  pain  ; 
Hope  is  false  and  prayer  is  vain." 

"  O,  no,"  said  I,  "  you  can  not  be 

The  friend  that  I  would  wish  to  see, 
I  spy  another  ship  afar 

Whose  pilot  is  the  evening  star. 

"And  from  that  ship  I  hear  a  voice, 

Saying,  '  Come  all  ye  unto  me 
That  are  weary  and  heavy  laden, 
And  I  will  give  you  passage  free. 


328  DOUBT   AND    DESPAIR. 

"  '  No  storm  disturbs  our  peaceful  isle, 

No  tempest  wrecks  our  happy  shore, 
All  is  calm,  repose  doth  smile, 

And  there  is  peace  forever  more.'  " 

With  a  content  and  joyous  heart, 

I  sought  at  last  this  peaceful  ark, 

Where  glow-worms  dropped  in  shining  showers, 

And  my  thorns  were  turned  to  orange  flowers. 

Then  where  dark  clouds  so  late  had  driven, 
And  rolling  thunders  fiercely  spoke, 

Now  sunlight  through  the  gates  of  heaven 
In  streams  of  softest  splendor  broke. 

There  is  one  thing  that  I  have  learned — 
There  is  no  truth  above  the  sod, 

There  is  no  real  trust  or  love 

But  that  which  Christians  place  in  God. 


IN  PRESS: 
CRADLED  UPON  THE  TIDE, 

BY 

Miss  BELLE  PETERSON, 

AUTHOR  OF 

"  A  Beautiful  Bird  Without  a  Name," 

"  Rose  Sherwood," 

"  A  Word  and  a  Tear," 

Etc.,  Etc. 


